


"...but Ned, i live there..."

by Huntress456



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Basically everything is cannon except for the end part of civil war, F/F, F/M, Field Trip, M/M, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries, She's wonderful, and Infinity War - Freeform, and endgame - Freeform, arrogant and stupidly, no beta we die like men, okay so i ended up getting a beta because i have no desire to die like a man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress456/pseuds/Huntress456
Summary: Field trip AUPeter Parkers lives with the avengers.But just because he has an entire family worth of people ready to throw hands with monster's for him, doesn't mean he wants them around his classmates, or his classmates around them.
Comments: 155
Kudos: 683





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there was accidently more build up then i thought there was, so lol
> 
> also 6640 words
> 
> also please comment, it gives me life when chocolate and therapy fails

Peter did not have to see the ticking of the clock to know it wasn’t working. He couldn’t hear the constant tick tick tick in his ears, a noise that most days even the bustling robotics class around him couldn’t seem to drown out. T oday he couldn’t hear it, and he was almost glad.

It was too early in the morning for their substitute teacher to let the class work on their own projects, provided they worked alone, and worked quietly.

It had worked, Peter conceded, for the first three minutes and thirty-seven seconds – then the substitute had hidden behind a book and all hell broke loose.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sighing quietly. The throbbing at the back of his skull did not let up any, but it was the thought that counted.

It was a good thing the clock had broken, because otherwise instead of throbbing in time with his heartbeat, his eyes would have been beaten in sync with the tick tick tick.

“You alright Peter?” Ned asked from across the table. They were on one of the islands that jutted out from the wall, and Peter was leaning his whole body onto it like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Which really, it was.

Peter waved away Neds concern. “Yeah, yeah, just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

Technically, he wasn’t lying.

He hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Having gone to bed at six in the morning, only to be called at seven definitely wasn’t the best idea, but neither was going to bed with fresh wounds and shrapnel still digging into his skin.

It had been an eventful day in the labs. Well, an eventful morning. Which had been followed by a warning to never do that again – the same one he received every time, almost word for word from each member of his adopted family every time something exploded.

This time it had been a mock engine he had built from spare parts. He had been trying to see how far he could get the engine to rev before something went wrong.

He wasn’t entirely sure what went wrong, but he had a theory that it was the corroded metal he had pulled from the scrap piles around him grating together and igniting the fuel.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. He hadn’t been bothered enough to modify one of the ark reactors to power the mess of an engine he had made.

All of his serious injuries, like the burns on his face, and the few fractures around his skull and neck from where he had hid one of his work tables, had healed almost immediately, adrenaline rushing through his veins and forcing his heart to pound faster and faster until his ears stopped ringing and he could move his head with full mobility.

Of course, this didn’t stop FRIDAY from sounding the alarm.

A shrill sound followed by the location of the explosion, The Kid’s Play Area, and less than a minute later, approximately twenty seconds longer than it had taken for him to heal most of his collarbone and above, every single Avenger that had been staying the night had arrived.

Normally they slept at the Compound, home to nearly all of them, but it had been a late night of work. FRIDAY had informed him at two thirty that they had arrived at the Tower and were currently being treated by Dr. Strange.

Wanda had extinguished the fire, and while Peter had been whisked away by a very worried looking Bucky, Vision and FRI had put the room to rights.

That part was a little fuzzy, but he distinctly remembered Vision waving his hands to show Wanda where to put things, and Peter's second home had been returned to normal, each pile of scrap and piece of paper and puddle of mess was put back into its place.

Even after an entire morning of trying to figure out why Vision knew where everything went, it still took talking to FRIDAY to figure out that she simply showed him records and it was easy for him to tell Wanda about them rather than FRI show Wanda.

While all of his things had been lowered into place, Peter had been lowered onto a standard issue hospital cot, in a large state of the art medicine bay – the entire right side of the room lined with large tinted windows to block out unwanted attention, but also to let in whichever flyer needed to come in.

Across the left side was state of the art equipment that Dr. Cho got updated as soon as a new machine came out.

It was the avengers personal med-bay, specially made for when a science experiment went wrong, or if it was easier to get to the Tower instead of the Compound.

It was why the avengers had arrived at the tower at two-thirty, instead of going straight back to the Compound.

Peter had been working late, and the last time they had left him to get back Home without someone making him it took forty-eight hours for him to come home – and only then was it through coercion.

And not that anyone would admit it, but it had become a sort of spoken rule that when the Kids™ were working on something they weren’t allowed to be alone in the Tower without responsible supervision.

It wasn’t Peter’s fault that they once forgot to go Home for forty-eight hours – Shuri and Groot just had some really, really fun ideas.

Tony’s suit had disappeared into his glowing chest, and his pinched and worried face had almost immediately calmed Peter down.

“Are you alright, Kid?” he asked, rushing to the side of Peter's bed. “What the hell happened?”

Peter went to nod but let loose an involuntary flinch when his entire torso had moved. Oh, he definitely had a few broken ribs. He tilted his head just right, and – yep, he could hear the bones as they grated together.

Well, that’s fun.

“I’m fine,” he gasped.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Dr. Strange, his hair a sleep addled mess, and wearing what looked like Walmart pyjamas – avengers themed with the Captain America shield printed on his chest. Even though his face was still covered in red lines from sleep, he didn’t look tired.

Even though it was three in the morning, he looked wide awake and ready to work. And if Nat’s multiple lessons on reading people were to be believed, even a little bit worried.

“What happened?” he asked in a blank voice – but Peter knew it was his _ ‘I’m worried but I don’t want to let it show in case it messes with my assessment or your honesty Peter, Jesus I’m a doctor it’s not an inconvenience’ _ voice.

But Peter wasn’t an idiot, and unfortunately neither was Bucky, who stepped forward as soon as Peter hesitated.

“FRIDAY sounded an alarm, and we all booked it to Pete’s lab,” his voice sounded tight and strained. He was worried too. “Where we found him lying on the ground, one of those hologram-y tables destroyed behind him, a smouldering heap of metal embedded into the ceiling, and heaps of paper burning around him.”

“God dammit that was my chemistry homework.” No one paid attention to Peter, but he wasn’t surprised.

Dr. Strange – because him and Stephen, while technically were the same person, were two different people to Peter – hummed in response and continued looking over Peter.

He motioned for him to remove his now-incredibly-singed t-shirt, but one look at the pain on his face, convinced him to wave his hands in a way that looked random, and then Peter was left in nothing but a pair of boxers – black and silky and definitely not what he had been wearing before.

See, this was Dr. Strange, the person who wouldn’t stop at anything if it meant he could win, whether the enemy was a broken spider, or an idiot scientist wanting to throw the avengers into space.

See, this was Dr. Strange, a man who would stop at nothing to win, whether the enemy was a spider’s broken ribs, or a scientist wanting to throw the avengers into space.

Stephen, to Peter, was the man who somehow lost at Operation even with his multiple awards in the world of healthcare.

It was nearly five when Dr. Strange bandaged his ribs, stuck an IV in his arm to deliver the much needed synthesized blood he was losing into his torso, cut open and removed shrapnel from his already healed over cheeks and forehead, gave him back his eyebrows, and told him he was lucky he hadn’t been paralysed.

He also advised him to get some rest. So, he got an hour before he had to wake up otherwise risk being late. And normally that would have been enough, provided he could eat in the ten minutes between the Compound and the Tower, and then sleep in the half hour between the Tower and Midtown.

But Peter was a teenager, and there were far too many more interesting things to do than sleep, especially when your driver for the week was Forehead of Security of the official Stark Industries in New York city.

Things that were more important than vital rest, Peter, you literally need sleep. Even spider’s sleep. No don’t look at Clint or Thor, they aren’t going to help you. Back before I got the serum, even I slept every night.

Peter was pretty sure Steve had been lying that morning, because like, really?

He had heard enough stories from Bucky to disprove anything the great Captain America told him about how much of a model citizen he was before he got the serum.

He used to square up against people behind movie theatres. There wasn’t a single atom of his body imbued with self-preservation, and while two years ago he might had believed him – he was Captain America, there were only so many times you can beat someone in Mario Kart only for them to turn around and lovingly beat you with a pillow when you wouldn’t shut up about it before the hero worship wore off.

Besides, he had gotten detention just enough to for his reprimanding face to not have much of an effect.

But apparently, he should strive to get into trouble at school more, because he could still see Steve’s expression when he strode into the med-bay, Nat, Clint, and (god why was Thor here), whenever he closed his eyes.

Even the noise around him didn’t stop his adrenaline from rushing at Steve’s expression. It wasn’t because he was scared or anything – quite the opposite.

Peter had been so worried at the fear of his face, at the fear on everyone’s faces, that by the time he went to bed at six, and woken up at seven (Jesus god why) the adrenaline had pushed his internal bleeding to heal (he didn’t hear any more suspicious sloshing) and his ribs were now only bruised and not grating together.

The only outer reminder of his accident was his charred fingers and sooty skin. A shower had taken care of the soot, and he had bandaged his fingers with some skin-coloured tape.

Tony had tried to stop him from going to school.

Clint had tried to stop him. Nat had sent him a worried look, Steve had tried to bribe him with promises of food and light sparring – he had nearly caved – Thor was already gone but had left a note asking after him, and even Vision looked worried.

Wanda had been called away in the night, Bruce had needed someone who could lift something really high up off the ground while not holding it, but if she had been there, she definitely would have asked him to take it easy.

Even Pepper, someone who had long since given up trying to get Tony to stop pulling all-nighters, had asked him to take it easy.

It wasn’t often they let him have a day off, normally most days he was forced out of bed. The most sympathy he got was being able to sleep in without having to wake up with Nat at four for their training session in the gym, every Monday and Thursday with the weekends used for peace and quiet and occasionally yoga.

And that happened, at most, once every couple of months when Peter was brought along with them on a mission. Otherwise he was left to be the friendly neighbourhood spiderman.

The only one who hadn’t asked him to take it easy was Bucky, he had just sent the sixteen year old a resigned look, that had quickly morphed into a grimace as soon as Peter tried to stand up – almost like he was reliving this exact same scenario from before Steve was frozen.

Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was finally registering that he was a child, maybe it was because they all watched FRIDAYs record of the event, saw him distracted and fidgety and flinch every time the date was mentioned –

Peter shuddered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge, ignoring Ned who sent him a worried glance from across their bench.

Whatever the reason was, he had ignored their wishes, and with the all clear from a very reluctant Stephen, he strode into school at exactly eight that morning.

So, he hadn’t missed any classes, and when he had hobbled into homeroom the only person who looked at him without any sense of anger or annoyance or disbelief was MJ. Ned had been transferred to a different homeroom when he began to snap back against Flash – apparently his mother had been giving him pointers on how to talk back to people.

Mr. Harrington had moved Ned out in the third week of school that year, and Flash had never let him forget it.

Currently, dick-thistle extraordinaire, also known as one Flash Thompson, was sitting two rows behind Peter, muttering and cursing at his own robot – a crude miniature of the original iron man suit, car battery and all – ignoring Peter as long as he wasn’t actively in his eye line.

It was lucky that although Flash had been able to get Ned moved out, coincidently after a large donation from his father, he hadn’t been able to get Ned removed from the four other classes they shared.

Not nearly as many classes he wished they shared. Out of the eight put on rotation every week, only sharing half of them felt a little rough.

Finally, dear god finally, the bell rang, and Peter packed up the dog he was making. Rudimentary and little more than a skeleton of metal bones and wire veins. It shocked him when he pet it.

But the plan was to finish it at school, and then when he was finally able to work on it at one of his labs, make it into a work of art.

He wanted it to walk, and whistle like a bird, and answer to the name Mr. FRANKLIN. The F stood for FRIDAY’s LITTLE WORK BUDDY, with the other letters added on because he wanted a pet called Franklin.

Peter carefully placed his robot into his locker and sped out of the building. He fled down the stairs as quick as his ribs would let him, and walked vaguely in the direction of SI, when a black Audi with tinted windows pulled up next to it.

He only hesitated for a second before diving into the car.

“You're closer than normal,” he commented with a small frown, collapsing in the back seat with a sigh.

He heard Happy snort. “Tony made me watch the footage. I thought it wasn’t exactly fair to make you walk the extra ten minutes with your ribs.”

“It wasn’t that bad, just a few fractures.”

Peter could feel the scepticism rolling off Happy in waves. “Sure thing kid.” It was quiet for a few moments, Happy muttering under his breath at the traffic. Then: “How was school?”

Peter thought about it for a second, deliberating on his answer.

Flash had complained about him getting to leave campus during his free periods, Mr. Harrington had talked to him about the internship again, Ms. Warrens had given them a surprise physics test which he was fairly sure he aced, and Flash had threatened him with his imminent death yet again.

Also, he had sneezed at eight thirty and nearly called Happy to come pick him up.

All of which he then recounted in vivid detail, with the only exception being that he left any mention of Flash out of it.

Happy was family, and family deserved the truth, but not even telling the truth involved a single mention of Eugene Thompson.

When he was done Happy talked about his day. Three interns, all hired last week, were nearly fired for losing their cards. They had been voided, and the interns had received written and verbal warnings.

One of the interns had started crying, and Happy told Peter that he looked so much like him that he was almost tempted to forgive him. But in the end, they had been banned from entering Stark Tower until their cards arrived – even though it took at most seventy-two hours for the machines on the twenty eighth level to reprint an already existing card.

If they had to be created from scratch, at least three weeks’ notice was required. Something to do with background checks and having to check information twice, once on the computer and once manually by the person who had placed the order.

Peter had once asked why they took so long when he once watched the process back to front and it had taken twelve hours without interruption.

Happy said it was so the people who had placed the order had time to send in additional information in case it was wrong, and trying to print hundreds of badges each week for the student tours and tourists would wear out the machines.

Eventually the story ended, and they made a few more moments of quiet conversation – Peter asked what was for dinner, Happy said he didn’t know but it was Steve and Thor’s turn to cook now that they were back home, so it was definitely going to be interesting.

Happy grumbled and reached up to close the partition. Even though the black glass, Peter could hear him yelling at the traffic.

It only took half an hour for Happy to arrive at the Tower. He had told Peter once that back in Tony’s playboy days he had learnt every side street, back ride, and dingy alleyway to get around the city the quickest way possible. It would have taken nearly an hour if they had gone the direct route.

They only knew that because they had decided to time it.

Just as Happy pulled up, he opened the partition.

Peter was lying on his back, concentrating on his ribs, and throwing a small ball of white web against the door by his feet. He sat upright, his torso only giving a slight twinge.

He could probably take off the bandages when he got up to his level.

“I’m dropping you off at the front, today kid.

Needed at one of the docks. Apparently, something confidential was found.”

From Happy’s tone it wasn’t hard to guess that the ‘something confidential’ was nothing.

It wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Something always rocked up that looked powerful and dangerous, but sometimes Tony threw out whatever was nearest him when something wasn’t working – like last week Peter had watched him climb onto the ceiling, remove one of the lights inside of it, and then throw it out because he couldn’t figure out some of Peter’s psychology homework.

Rhodey said he never did that before he met Peter, who had the habit of webbing whatever he didn’t want to work with to the roof, with a new formula that wouldn’t dissolve until he sprayed it with the dissolver.

“Sure thing Happy. Good luck.” And then he was out of the door and the Audi sped off into the traffic.

Peter felt his chest stutter. It wasn’t often he went through the front. Either he went through the private parking beneath the building straight up to the top levels, or he went through the back entrance, reserved for the Family.

In fact, he could count on one hand how many times he had gone through the front.

In the one year, eleven months, three weeks, and six days he had been officially interning at SI, he had gone through the front entrance exactly three times.

Four if he counted when he had been forcibly dragged behind Sam as he followed the cute receptionist to her desk. Luckily, she had found it highly flattering for an avenger to take interest in her, if only for the five minutes they had spare before they had to leave otherwise risk being late for dinner.

The first time was a month into his internship, and he had gone with Pepper who needed to talk to Happy, but he was busy on level one, so they had gone to him.

A few people had gaped, and a single person took a sneaky photo that FRIDAY informed them was deleted from everywhere the very second it had been taken; the tourist had been removed from the premise.

The second time had been with Rhodey – they had missed the train, Happy was busy, and in the end decided to take uber from Midtown. Sometimes his family wanted to spend more time with him, as he was the only one not at home during the day.

Seeing as it would have been a breach of security to let them anywhere near the back entrance and private parking garage, they had been dropped off a block away and walked the rest of the way.

Rhodey had walked straight past the three separate lines filled with tourists and employees and scheduled tours, straight through the clear gates to the right of each metal detector.

They had opened automatically, and only the students touring and the tourists gaped as no one, not even the security guards dressed in official looking black suits did a thing to stop them, although Peter had seen one stare at him before Rhodey had only glanced at the guard for him to hastily spin away and pale significantly.

He had watched the footage three times as soon as he had reached his room, getting FRIDAY to add subtitles. Not that he would admit it to anyone, but there was something comforting about being recognised at his place of work – internship – whatever.

The third time he had gone through reception it was because Happy was updating him on the levels of security, this was over a year ago and hadn’t needed an update since. They had gone through each line of people removing their shoes and scanning their cards until Peter had the levels memorised.

It took ten minutes before Happy was happy with that part, moving on to the standard procedure for acquiring cards and temporary passes, and even how tours were briefed before they were allowed in the building.

And then they went through the clear gates, the eye level bullet proof shields opening without prompt, and then closing with a soft click.

And not once had he needed a card.

It wasn’t like he needed one anyway, not a single Avenger had one. This was their home away from home after all – all of their biometrics, walking patterns, and voices uploaded to FRIDAY who allowed them access without fault.

The single exception to this rule was Pepper, who had all of that, and her card, and that was literally only because she was CEO and wanted to set a good example for her workers.

So, it was with not a small amount of hesitation that he stepped past the receptionists and their white desks, and towards the metal detectors to the left, pressed up against the bullet proof glass wall.

He paused for a fraction of a second, before he squared his shoulders.

He was Peter Benjamin Parker, he was an avenger, his family were the avengers, and the other day Bruce Banner had given him a high five after he correctly guessed a question in trivia.

The standard ones were too easy for the multiple geniuses that had been gathered, so Peter and Wanda had created their own.

Scott had been there, as well as Hope. If was after a mission and they were still sitting in the med-bay when Bruce had walked in with the game. Peter had been following him, asking questions about his first transformation – it was a project for History, and he had been assigned Bruce Banner during the scientists throughout the years segment.

Peter had been following him, looking for a tool he was sure he had left in his lab, but he seemed to carry whatever he was holding in his hand with him until he noticed it, and let his hand unstick. So it was possible that it could have been in the med-bay.

Just last week he had found a minute laser, designed for cutting slivers off vibranium, in his laundry basket.

The question had been about the quantum realm, and while he couldn’t quite remember it properly, he did remember Hope had looked mildly impressed, while Scott had just looked as excited as someone with a bandage covering half of their face could look.

Peter paused and frowned again, before beginning to walk with purpose towards the clear gates, missing the stares the guards were giving him.

Now that he thought about it, he was sure that the wrench he was looking for was on the roof hidden by a few webs.

He was only a few steps away from the clear gates that were already beginning to open when he was stopped with a large body in front of him and a hand on his shoulder.

“Can I help you, kid?” asked the large man in front of him. Peter had to tilt his head to look him in the eye, but only slightly. He had grown over the years, now taller than Tony and just hinting at eye level with Steve.

“No thankyou,” he waved his hand dismissively, not immediately seeing anything wrong with the gesture, still caught up in his mind.

But it was when the big man narrowed his brown eyes dangerously that he realised maybe treating the specially trained security guard dismissively wasn’t the best idea.

He was spending too much time with Tony, he talked to everyone he didn’t consider family with a vague sense of “you’re wasting my time”.

It was a defence mechanism, similar to how Peter carried on conversations in the middle of fighting. Peter blinked stupidly, a nervous smile replacing his expression.

The security guards’ eye twitched, and he puffed out his chest, perhaps slightly offended that he had been dismissed by a kid that couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

“Come on, kid. Bugger off,” the guard told him quietly, and with no small amount of warning in his voice. Peter glanced at his card – Rodger Williams. Must have been new, Peter hadn’t heard Happy complain about him.

“Um, Mr. Williams, I really do need to get to work. Please?” he tacked on in the hopes that it would work.

Rodger rolled his eyes and started speaking slowly as though he were talking to a child. “Kid, this is a second warning. If you don’t either line up with the other students touring the building,” he waved towards the empty line. It was nearly four in the afternoon. Student tours stopped entering at three fifteen at the latest. “Or you leave, straight back the way you came.” He gestured behind Peter.

Peter frowned, frustration and anxiety leaving his stomach a knot. He glanced around, almost in desperation – gone was any of the confidence he had built up on the walk in, the same confidence he carried on nearly every floor of the tower, and it was replaced by the anxiety of a high schooler knowing they were right, but knowing that arguing with their mum was worse than any brief sense of satisfaction that would come from proving them wrong.

He glanced to the side, almost in desperation, and saw another security guard gaping as he watched the display before him. It was Nathan Roberts, Peter had seen him around the place either on business trips to other buildings and he was on detail with him and Pepper, or just in the security break room when he needed to find Happy.

Nathan knew, just like nearly all the employees in SI, that Peter Parker had the same clearance as Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, often seeing his signature along with Ms. Potts on forms that needed the highest level of clearance possible.

Even if they hadn’t seen him, FRIDAY had marked each and every time he was speculated about. And he was spoken about on every floor, just like Tony and just Pep and just like the other avengers that occasionally popped down for a pizza from the cafeteria.

It wasn’t hard to make the reach from there that this high schooler was very high in the social ladder, doors opening for him automatically, and the elevator meant for only the Avengers opening for him without him even having to say a word.

But apparently Rodger had only been there a week, probably transferred from another place, because all he saw was a fidgety nearly-seventeen-year-old trying to sneak into SI without even bothering to try and be subtle. In his ear he saw an Ear-Communications Device.

The workers waiting to their right had witnessed the whole interaction and staring with open mouths. Peter watched as no less than three separate people dropped their shoes that they were holding. He recognised one of the Research and Design scientists.

Peter had given them his finished product, an earpiece, the very same that was in Rodgers left ear, that would allow tours and tourists both to listen to the public announcements or their tour guides without the tour guide having to shout.

He had designed them after the hearing aids Clint wore, only added a hook to the outside to slip around the outside of the ear. They were waterproof and were able to be cleaned and reused. Each set was coded to a microphone, something he had also created special.

They were also almost entirely metal; the single part not made out of metal was the actual ear bud – a soft and squishy plastic that could be removed and then replaced with every wearer.

He had his own set, made entirely from vibranium, and instead of plastic buds were made from nano’s he had programmed to adjust to his ear canal.

Shuri had been sneaking him bits and pieces of vibranium for months, but only recently he had received enough to create his own set when T’Challa had given him unlimited access (technically it had been limited access, but he and Shuri weren’t geniuses for nothing) and he had been able to stop working on them with gusto, instead of when he was sure T’Challa wasn’t even on the same continent as him. Colour him paranoid but he hadn’t been caught once.

After spending three months working on them maybe once or twice a week, he had been able to completely focus on them, and they had been finished in three days.

He and Shuri had been facetiming almost the entire time, as she worked on upgrading the Kimoyo beads. Most of the three days had been spent waiting for the tests to be printed.

And he had only lost his hearing in his left ear when he had tried calling Shuri using the newly dubbed Ear-Comms. Not very imaginative, but then again by the third day Peter had been answering solely to Sir Yeetness, and Shuri had been replying with  _ mmm whatcha sayyy _ to every single question.

It had been encouraged by Tony, Clint had asked him for a pair of hearing aids with a similar design but black and purple instead of silver, and as of a month ago they were being actively produced and used.

Apparently, they were a hit.

Seeing this small glimpse of another life – the life of Peter Parker, intern of the Starks – surged through Peter and he stopped fidgeting, confidence filling him with every breath.

I belong here.

He knew it.

FRIDAY knew it.

Hell, even the interns that fetched Pep’s coffee knew he was important, even when he was just banging his head against the desk as he tried to complete his English homework.

“Sir-” he began, but it seemed Mr. Williams had had enough, and he stepped forward threateningly, a scowl set deep into his face.

But he was stopped by a voice from behind him.

Rodger twisted around to see who was talking to him, and Peter leaned around him to watch too.

And it seemed Nathan had come to the rescue. “Rodger just let him through, man.”

A few entering employees laughed at his language, apparently still watching with unwavering attention. Even the guards that were supposed to be waving through the employees were watching with bated breath.

Rodger sputtered, and opened his mouth to speak, but Nathan cut him off with a sharp, “If you're so stuck on it, then get him to go through the employees’ line. If he really isn’t allowed in,” his tone conveyed just how much Nathan believed that statement. “then the system will kick him without all of this funny business.”

Mr. Williams grumbled, but seemed to relent, and sent Peter to the back of the line. The line seemed to move twice as fast as normal, and as each employee successfully moved past the metal detector, through the card scan that looked reminiscent of the ones in the subway, they simply waited against the walls and elevators.

There were only about thirteen people watching when Peter stripped off his shoes, belt, backpack, anything remotely metal, and dumped them into the container. Six of them were the security workers at each of the stations.

The student tour line was empty, and the tourists line had three waiting by the metal detector, the scanner, and the computer screen respectively.

He watched as his things sped down the runway, his backpack filled with homework and his Spidey suit leaving his eye site.

Then with a self-assured smirk, Rodger waved Peter passed the metal detectors. Before he had even finished crossing the line, the screen next to Rodger flashed green, and with a scowl he told Peter to wait.

He leaned down to the computer screen displaying what should have been the contents of his bag; a few textbooks, maybe a bit of food scattered around the bottom, and the bones of a suit.

But instead was a blurred image of what could have been a backpack or an elephant if you squinted enough, with a big flashing sign that read  **CONFIDENTIAL.**

Peter snorted.

FRIDAY had his back. He shouldn’t have been worried at all.

Rodger sputtered, at a loss for words. Eventually he found them. “How the hell do you have this clearance.” And for a split second, Peter was looking at a grown Flash Thompson. An inflated sense of self-importance, the undeserved ego of Tony Stark himself, and the conviction that he was right, no matter what.

Almost as soon as he spoke the words, the screen changed from  **CONFIDENTIAL** to  **CONFIDENTIAL: CLEARANCE TOO LOW** and then, in the upper left hand corner there was, written in white against the blue x-ray, LET PETER B. PARKER THOUGH NOW – FRIDAY.

Seeing the words was all Peter needed before he was gone, pulling on his backpack, he strode past the automatic gates, which opened just as he reached them, and closed them immediately.

Peter hadn’t even made it to the mob of seven gathered around the elevators when he checked his phone.

It had a message from Happy…

FRIDAY told me what’s happening. Coming back.

…and just as he scanned the words, he heard Happy behind him go, “Hey Rodger? Come with me.”

Rodger must have done something entertaining because the group behind him laughed, but Peter didn’t bother turning around. Instead, he curved around the back wall to the right, stopping in front of the elevator and pressed his back against the wall, hidden by an alcove.

FRIDAY must have been waiting for him because the doors opened close to immediately, and he climbed right in.

Only then did he allow himself to slump back against the wall with a groan. The elevator sped up, going much faster than any other elevator in the building, and he didn’t have to wait long before the doors opened on his own floor.

“Here you go Peter,” FRI said gently, in her lilting Irish accent.

“Thank you, FRI. Especially for earlier,” he told her quietly, exhausted now after a long day of stress and confrontation.

“No problem Peter. It’s my job to keep you safe, remember?” she said kindly, with no small amount of quiet teasing.

It seemed to do the trick, and Protocol: Hyper and Happy was satisfied. Peter knew about the protocol Steve had insisted be added when Peter was alone without anyone near him to help him cheer up.

“Yeah I remember FRIDAY. Protocol: Babysitters club still bounces around my head every time I think about doing something you wouldn’t approve of.”

“Would you like me to inform Ms. Potts and the Boss that you have arrived?”

“Yes please.”

A beat of silence, as Peter shuffled past his kitchen, living room, and into his room. His own personal lab, not counting the one three floors below him, or the one at the compound, was on the left to him, but instead he went into the door on the right and collapsed onto his bed.

The good news was that he no longer was in any pain at all. It seemed the adrenaline from talking to Rodger had been enough to set him to rights.

…it had been a long day.

With a hefty sigh, he pulled up his long sleeves and shot a web at the glasses case sitting on the desk. The desk, an ancient mahogany number, was carefully stacked with old contracts and statements that Pepper wanted him to study, along with a vibranium tin Shuri had made him filled with pens and highlighters. In the middle was his laptop, a square of metal with the screen projected into the middle, similar to Tony’s personal phone.

He slipped on the glasses.

“Hey FRIDAY? Could you please bring up security footage from earlier, as well as live stream Rodger?”rofe

“Of course, Peter.” In front of his eyes appeared the large images of Peter being confronted by Rodger, and slightly overlapping it was the live stream of Happy red faced and angry, yelling at a red faced and crying Rodger.

A few guards looked on, wincing but without an ounce of sympathy.

“Thanks FRI.”

Already he felt calmer. And hella tired. Now that he wasn’t in any pain, he found that there was nothing staving off the nap he had been successfully avoiding since Sunday. It was Wednesday.

“Peter? Ms. Potts would like to remind you that she has a meeting scheduled at five with a potential investor and would like you to shadow her.”

“Tell her I’ll be there, FRI.”

“Of course, Peter, I’ll set an alarm for four thirty.”

But Peter was already asleep, a soft smile on his face. FRIDAY stopped the images and sent a message to Pepper confirming that Peter would be there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7627 words

Peter was bored.

It wasn’t often he was bored; both his mind and his labs were too full of ideas and tools for him to ever truly be my-brain-is-melting level of boredom.

But right now, with Harrison Thompson staring at him, Pepper, and the head of Finances with a sort of smug arrogance that distinctly reminded Peter of Flash.

It made sense, while Harrison was actually Flash’s father, they also looked similar, only Harrison had more lines on his face, and his hair was slicked back, jaw more of a square rather than a triangle.

And he was looking at Pepper as though she truly was going to accept his proposal. Peter ignored the desire to fidget in his three-piece suit, the fabric a dark blue and perfectly tailored to him. He was also still wearing the glasses.

He had made them after studying Tony’s own EDITH glasses, only the lenses were a slightly darker blue, and connected to FRIDAY and KAREN. He glanced to his left, watched as the Head of Finance, Holly Broker, appeared to be taking notes on her SI-Pad.

The recipe for butter chicken appeared on his glasses, and he quickly looked away, focusing back on Harrison. It seemed that even the Head of Finance, who Peter was scared to interrupt even when he was running an errand for Pepper, even though this meeting was a waste of time.

The secretary (Harrison brought his own, along with someone he hadn’t bothered to introduce) was actually making notes on her laptop, also SI made.

Maybe they were trying to showcase loyalty.

Maybe they were just dumb and didn’t think to bring one of those Microsoft laptops.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pepper smile softly.

It wasn’t a nice smile, or a happy one.

It was the same face she made when she was forced to fire one of the heads or correct a mistake her secretary made or read over an essentially useless contract a business that wanted to partner with Stark Industries had offered.

It was a smile that said, you have made a mistake coming here and talking to me.

Peter hazarded a guess that it was because the first thing Harrison had done was greet Peter, the only other male in the room, and then Pepper. He hadn’t even shaken hands with Holly, let alone looked at her with something that looked like thinly veiled contempt. Or maybe it was lust?

Either way it made a fire start in Peter’s chest, and the longer the meeting had gone on the harder it was getting to keep the fire inside and not let it explode in a fit of power that involved Peter’s fists and Harrisons face.

The urge to introduce the too only increased tenfold, when the very first thing the man had implied was that it would be in SI’s best interest to let him, Harrison Thompson – someone who wasn’t even the head of his own family – join the Board of Directors; as though it was a favour on the Thompsons’ behalf.

Peter had met the head of the Thompsons family at a gala a few months ago and had been impressed with his conduct. Andrew Thompson was a man who knew how to talk to people to get what he wanted.

It was how he had shares – miniscule though they were – in Amazon and Stan, as well having a much larger share in Microsoft.

But it appeared that where Andrew had been bred for the world of the rich and powerful, his younger brother Harrison was simply a somewhat charismatic idiot. His charm had worn off in the first few minutes of talking, only to be replaced by the vague sense of  _ I’m better than you _ that shrouded him like a second skin.

It was lucky that the charisma didn’t disappear altogether, otherwise Peter would have been napping in his chair, wrinkling the tailored suit he had only just gotten a couple weeks ago.

Peter had been fairly sure that Pepper would refuse his proposal at less than ten minutes past five o’clock.

And it was only confirmed by that smile, an hour and half later that he would never get back. His stomach gave a groan only he could hear. Maybe he should have even something more substantial than Doritos and a single, rather small apple.

Harrison smiled charmingly.

“This has been enlightening, Mr. Thompson,” started Pepper diplomatically, a small smile still in place. “But we will have to decline your offer of financial support.”

It  _ had _ been enlightening, because Peter had never been in a conversation about finance and stocks (which were actually interesting, most of the time) that had gone straight through one ear and out of the other. In fact, this was one of the most boring things Peter had sat through. Including school. 

Tuning back in, Peter realised that Pepper was about to go absolutely mental. Harrison, who seemed to have stiffened up, interrupted her with a charismatic smile frozen on his face. “And my family's influence, Ms. Potts. Something that every company would benefit from.”

Pepper’s smile didn’t waver on her face, and the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood up.

Something about that smile screamed danger.

“Mr. Harrison, there are other companies out there that will benefit from your backing; however Stark Industries is simply not one of them that needs your input.”

Pepper said this with a finality Peter still hadn’t quite learned how to master and gave him a small nod. An effective dismissal if Peter had ever seen one.

“I’m sure Mr. Parks,” Pepper said, using Peter’s chosen last name until after he graduated high school, “will be happy to show you the way Mr. Thompson.”

It was only to the business partners that he was introduced as Mr. Parks, and even then, it was only to those that might somehow connect him to a student attending Midtown School of Science and Technology Hence Harrison meeting Mr. Parks, and not Peter Parker, bane of Eugene Thompsons existence, and a person that was probably complained about during dinner.

Harrison nodded stiffly. He hesitated, sending Peter an almost pleading look. He nearly snorted. He trusted Pepper’s judgement more than he trusted his own, and his own opinion was that this last hour and a half was a complete waste of time.

For god’s sake, he had an English assignment due tomorrow that he hadn’t looked at since he stuffed it into his backpack last Monday.

Or maybe since he slung it to the ceiling Monday afternoon.

Fuck, he really needed to do that essay.

Peter stood up, and went to the glass door, leaving the small conference room with its floor to ceiling glass panes, bullet proof and with a small touch screen against the wall, that when tapped would increase the opacity until they were completely blacked out.

Or you could just ask FRIDAY. But newcomers didn’t need to know that.

“Right…well, I’ll be going then.” As the shock of rejection wore off, Harrison donned the same arrogant expression that Flash seemed to use, only on Harrison it seemed to be natural whereas on Flash it looked somewhat forced and almost a little bit sad – like he was trying to live up to someone else’s standard.

Peter hadn’t realised it was his father’s standard that he had been trying to emulate, and Peter found that almost disappointing in a way. Flash’s father seemed even more arrogant and pig-headed than Tony seemed to be back when he was fifteen in MIT.

Rhodey told him stories when he was bored. Or maybe he just liked to talk to Peter, because he seemed to be bored quite a lot.

There was silence as Peter walked to the elevator, his gait confident and without hesitation.

He had been interning at SI for nearly two years and knew his place in the company like he knew that Thor’s favourite Pop-Tarts were the strawberry kind, eaten straight from the packet.

And whenever that confidence seemed to disappear, he followed Nat’s advice.

Think murder.

And strut.

It worked a treat most of the time; people veering out of his way on the busy New York streets.

And the last time he had been allowed coffee, people had moved out his way in the Starbucks line so he could order his Tall American in a Venti cup with the difference made up with espresso and sugar.

With extra whipped cream. Because while that specific time he had been running on a quick power nap he had taken in the quinjet, he wasn’t a total monster.

It seemed that the only time he couldn’t even think of his family or their advice was in the middle of a Midtown hallway, Flash telling him to piss off because while he got third in the class in a Physics test, Peter had gotten first.

The elevator doors opened as Peter stepped up to them, and the pair stepped into the private elevator in silence.

Most elevators had buttons next to the doors; the two elevators next to them only had the buttons for the floors they went to – reception to forty-six, and every floor in-between.

But this one was the personal elevator of the Avengers and co. It went from the sub-levels, all the way up to the penthouse. And the only people who could enter it, were the ones with clearance. And if somehow, they had gotten into the elevator alone, FRIDAY would have simply ignored any command they tried to give.

“Reception, please FRI,” he said into the empty air. Harrison fidgeted next to him.

“Of course, Mr. Parks.”

Parks was said with just enough sarcasm to be undetectable to somehow who didn’t have full on conversations with her, but Peter heard it loud and clear.

Peter would have to actually listen the next time Tony explained how he programmed FRIDAY. Normally he listened long enough to figure out to hack into her and change her settings, and then zone out and proceed to hack while Tony was busy underneath whatever car he had on hand.

The elevator began its descent, far faster than any normal elevator would have gone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harrison open and close his mouth multiple times, like he was searching for something to say.

The urge to start rambling was hard to resist, but he had seen the sneers Harrison had thrown to Pepper – and the desire to let him squirm was far superior than any lingering sense of humour he could have thrown at him.

In front of him, the secretary and no-name were exchanging glances, and occasionally he could see their eyes dart around the elevator – perhaps looking for where the camera was? Or FRIDAY’s microphone?

They reached reception and they shuffled out.

Peter couldn’t be bothered walking all the way out to reception, so instead he simply shook their hands, pointedly leaving Harrison until he was last, said he looked forward to perhaps seeing him at the next gala or event, and went straight back into the elevator.

“FRI, can you tell me when they leave the premises?” he asked her, slumping against the elevator’s back wall.

“Of course. Ms. Potts had asked,” here FRIDAY’s lilting Irish accent was replaced by Peppers voice, “what would you like for dinner Peter? The sushi place downstairs is still open, but the pizza gets here so much quicker. Thoughts?” Pepper’s voice cut off then.

Peter shrugged and was about to reply when FRIDAY spoke up again, talking through his glasses rather than the speakers, “Pepper has another message for you. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yeah sure.”

Again, it was Pepper’s voice that bled through the glasses. “Never minds it’s Thor’s and Steve’s turn to cook dinner tonight. Get your stuff and I’ll meet you in the penthouse.”

Peter smiled wide at that; tiredness momentarily forgotten. “Can you tell her that sounds perfect, FRI?”

FRIDAY didn’t respond, but Peter was confident that she had told Pepper. Without having to ask, the elevator stopped at Peter’s level in the tower, and he ran to the bedroom. He stripped out of his suit, only stopping to hang it up in the large walk-in closet.

He pulled on the clothes he was wearing before, black skinny jeans and a soft sweater that he was fairly sure was cashmere even though he asked Nat, Wanda, and Pepper to buy them at Walmart.

He flung his homework from the desk back into his stuffed bag until he had to cover the opening with webs to even close it. Then, he snagged his glasses case and carefully lowered the lenses into them.

He put the case onto his bedside table, then stopped in his miniature lab. It was roughly the size of the lounge room at his old apartment in Queens, and he’d initially thought it was massive until he’d seen the other one right above his level. Plus, that didn’t account for the huge one at the compound.

Peter opened the door and stepped inside, still inwardly fanboying over the awesome supplies and tools available, including hologram tables. For example, over one table spun a couple variations of his web formula, and he began to make his way over to it.

“KAREN can you download those formulas, please? I was thinking of working on them at the compound later.”

He snagged the black vibranium ear-comms from his bedside table, and put them on.

“Sure thing, Peter,” her voice came from his Ear-Comms, the nanobots making small clicking noises as they filled his ear canal and filtered the noise level to just above a normal human’s.

Sometimes it was nice to not have to concentrate on only the things happening around him, and not be forced to hear literally everything that was happening.

He slung his bag onto his shoulders and fiddled on his phone as he climbed up the elevator. FRI took him up to the penthouse without him needing to ask.

“Peter? Mr. Thompson and his posse have left the building.”

He let loose an involuntary laugh at that. Last week he had referred to Paradise Lost as a book about Satan and his posse, and straight away Mr. Stark had asked FRI to refer to everyone by that name, as long as it was only around family – as in, all those with Level Red clearance.

The other day Cassie had asked him what posse meant, and being a responsible teenager, had then sat her down and they watched the entirety of Mean Girls and Heathers in one sitting.

Pepper must have already been waiting in the quinjet because he didn’t see anyone as he walked past the couches reserved for movie night, past the bar, and out onto the landing pad, where he walked right into the carrier.

“Hey Pepper,” he said to her, sitting down in the driver’s seat. He glanced around for Happy, but he must have had a late meeting or something equally terrible, because he wasn’t there.

Besides he would probably just take the other, slightly smaller quinjet currently collecting dust in the compound's garage. It was easier to travel in, and faster too.

There were two, so Peter took the one on the left. They were the comfiest seats in the whole plane, and while the flight was barely ten minutes he still didn’t want to be standing.

“Happy coming home later then?” he asked as soon as he stepped slipped into his seat.

“No, he’s going to stay the night. Something’s come up, but he said he would talk about it when he had more time.”

Peter just hummed in reply and pressed a few buttons to get the opening to close quicker.

Finally, she looked up with a soft smile, a real one unlike the one from earlier, and said gently, “Hey, Peter.”

She finished shuffling the papers she was sorting and turned her attention to him. “How was school?” It was standard practise. As soon as work was over, casual discussion could begin.

“Yeah alright. There was a rumour running around that my years going to have a surprise competition. So, you know, that’s going to be exciting.”

“Do you have any idea what the prize is going to be?”

“None at all. How was your day?”

Pepper delved into her day, sensing that Peter didn’t want to talk about his day. He loved Pep, but sometimes he really, truly loved her.

They had only been in the air for a couple of minutes, the quinjet automatically leaving as soon as all passengers were accounted for, and the door was closed.

“So,” Pepper began slowly. Peter twisted his seat so that he was facing her, putting his phone down – the latest test batch from the labs. “Happy told me what happened earlier.”

Peter blinked at her stupidly. Maybe he should have gotten more than an hour of sleep last night.

“Down at the gates,” Pepper clarified.

Understanding dawned, and he felt his face crease into surprise, then fall into a grimace. “Oh yeah. I kinda repressed as soon as it happened.”

Pepper looked like she was trying desperately to not be reminded of Tony, and at the same time trying not to roll her eyes. “So, I’m guessing this means you don’t want to talk about it then? Because I can’t help but believe that you should.”

Peter shrugged. “I guess.”

It was quiet for a second, before he blurted out, “It’s just that…I’ve never – never needed one of those card things. Like FRI has my – well, everything uploaded to the server, so it never really crossed my mind that I actually needed one. But then this guy – who I have never even heard off steps up and is like lol nah man no card, no entry…it was just a shock, I guess.”

And he would never say this, but he had grown used to going anywhere he wanted without needing approval from anyone. Tony allowed all of the Avengers equal access to everywhere in the building in case someone got into an accident in one the labs and they couldn’t get in – case in point the explosion yesterday.

The family – as in all of the avenger’s personal families from before the whole lets fight in an airport in Germany, and then accidently get shot into space a couple months later by a dickhead scientist only to crash into the Guardians of the Galaxy and then get back home with all of them on tow, then defeat the asshole scientist with the help of a few wizards and only then make it home after somehow missing only a week of school because he had “mono” debacle – well they had unlimited access until Cassie had decided to follow Thor as he went exploring, only to shrink herself with one of the new shrinking things Scott uses, and then proceed to be accidently lost until Peter got home from school after being pulled out twenty past eight because Sam happened to be on the other side of the country and Tony had been doing maintenance on FRIDAY.

Needless to say, all of the avengers had unlimited access, including a few choice individuals (literally only Pepper and Happy, everyone else was considered an avenger, even if, in the case of one Steven Strange insisted that they have better things to do than play Mario Kart on a Saturday) so really it was just the multiple kids that visited for more than any one of Peter's mates would think.

Pepper hummed, looking like she was deep in thought. “…did you want a card? To prove that you actually work here.”

She gestured to her own. It was magnetised to the metal rectangle where her breast pocket would have been. It was white, with her face on the left side, and then on the right had Stark Industries, followed by Pepper Potts, CEO printed just below it.

The edges of the card were coloured Iron Man red, the writing a deep golden colour that caught the light. She carefully pulled it off the magnetic strip and handed it to him. “You could have a similar one to mine. Same clearance you already have, so same colour, but it just says Intern instead of CEO.”

Peter fiddled with the card, flipping it so it lay flat and the SI logo appeared in the air, spinning and blue.

Did he really need it?

He might lose it, that was a possibility. A more likely one was that would be so used to not needing one that he would forget it.

It would also be almost redundant, the only time it would ever be helpful was when he was entering in through the reception, and that didn’t happen nearly enough for it to even matter.

By the time he entered through the reception again, he probably would have already met all of the security after an update, and then having a card wouldn’t matter. Besides, it wouldn’t be accurate anyway. His last name wouldn’t be Parker and have it be linked to a high school student, so it would probably be Parks, Potts, or even one of the Avengers’ last names. Thor would probably create a petition to call him Peter Thorson, or Allson if they couldn’t decide on whose to use.

Peter wanted to cry just thinking about the outrage that dilemma would cause. It was why the last name Parks had been chosen.

The last time they had tried to think of a new last name for him, the TV had been broken, and Peter had resorted to hiding in the vents in the SI building so they would stop asking his opinion.

And the birthdate would also be wrong – Pepper didn’t want anyone to be aware of her intern's age, lest he be treated with differently. He was sure some people were at least a little bit aware of how old he was, but they still treated him like anyone else with Level Red clearance.

Slight fear in the beginning, now he helped deliver coffees if he had free time, and the other day he got into a water fight with Geoff, one of the newer interns.

He had only been there for seven months and was only now just beginning to treat him like he was human. He was also removed from coffee and clean-up duty and was now spending more time in the chemistry labs on Sublevel 1.

“Penis show us your badge if you really have one then!”

Peter clenched his jaw, sucking in a deep breath before slowly relaxing his body. “Nah it’s alright Pep. Besides with my track record in losing things, it could be dangerous if I don’t notice and someone manages to sneak in with access to literally everything. And the only thing that would be true would be Inter at Stark Industries.”

Pepper smiled softly, an almost proud look in her eyes, and Peter got the feeling he had passed some kind of test. What kind he had no idea, but Pepper Potts was proud of him and that’s all that mattered.

“Have you looked over Harrison’s written proposal?” Peter was grateful for the topic change, his entire body slumping and relaxing into the spinning chair. He hadn’t even noticed how tense he was.

Peter shook his head.

“He sent it through almost as soon as he left the building.

Soon the quinjet touched down, and they climbed out. The compound consisted of two segments. The SHIELD area, and those parts that were filled with just enough cool stuff to be deemed tourable.

Peter had gone over there a few times, enough that it wasn’t a surprise, and that he knew who most people were, but he mainly stayed (and lived) in the personal area.

Hence the reason he felt no shame or hesitation when he kicked his shoes off to join the other ones sitting by the door. He was in the small entryway and felt the small tingle as FRIDAY scanned him into the open plan dining room and kitchen.

The lounge room was straight though the large archway. Right now it was in shadow with flashes of light and curses periodically coming from the room.

Peter collapsed at the kitchen island, the stool sinking slightly as he sat down with a fraction of his super strength. He sighed, resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes.

“Clint demolishing Bucky in Mario Kart, again?”

Steve looked up from the pot he was stirring with a smile. “Today it’s Wii bowling.”

Peter winced in mock sympathy, pulling out his Ear-Comms and slipping them into his pocket. He really should have left them at the Tower. Now he would have to bring them to school tomorrow before he was able to wear them.

“Have they broken the tv yet?”

“Tony said if he had to replace it for the third time, he was putting in a holographic one, and that our eyes will just adjust.”

Peter laughed at that. It was nice hearing them on good terms. After arriving back from Siberia, Tony, Steve, and Bucky had many conversations about the “Accords”. Peter had been crawling around in the vents, hiding from Clint, and hadn’t meant to overhear.

“I know what it’s like not to be able to control your actions. I forgive you.”

“…thank you. You’ve said that. Every day for the past seven months Tony. You’re still not allowed to play monopoly with real money though. I don’t care what mister righteous has to say about it.”

“Come on Buck, he had…holy shit how do you only have three dollars left? Anyway, it’s the only way he’s gonna stay in the game.”

“Yeah listen to capsicle. I haven’t won a game in six months.”

“We’ve been playing for six months Tony.”

“Shut up.”

And that was also the day that Peter realised everything was fine and stopped walking on eggshells around them. All was forgiven, and Peter was just thankful that all of the fighting had stopped in Germany.

He wasn’t thankful for the fact that in the seven months since they arrived back from Siberia together, they had spent six months playing monopoly without him. At that point he had been living with them four months, like what the fuck guys? He loved monopoly.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, planting his hand in the middle of the white marble, and vaulting over the island from his sitting position. He landed almost silently and leant against the marble.

He hadn’t strictly needed to leave his seat, but being closer to people helped him focus, and without his Ear-Comms the lounge room was quite distracting.

But sometimes the people in his house spoke inaudibly, and asking an old man to repeat their question was rude in his book.

Steve shrugged, and said nicely, “I’ve no idea. Thor gave me the recipe and then I just started cooking it.” He lifted his wooden spoon to show Peter, and he swallowed as the saliva pooled in his mouth.

It looked…

To put it gently, it looked like mush. Like slightly purply grey, swirled with orange, and not very tasty mush.

“Is it supposed to look like that?”

Steve shrugged again, mixing it faster. “No idea. Most of the ingredients were off-world. Like this one here says, ‘Elven berries, picked during the full moon’, so I used the frozen blueberries from the freezer. It’s a delicacy, apparently.”

Peter swallowed sharply. “Well, Thor hasn’t poisoned us yet, so hopefully this will be the time.”

The Captain, a man who grew up when that style of humour was running rampant, nodded sagely, and gestured towards the cupboard. “We should put it in a nice bowl, then at least we can go out with style.”

Peter shot a web towards it, and carefully picked out a glass trifle jug. He caught it with a soft  _ ting _ . “This do?”

“Perfect. Make sure to clean up those webs. Remember last time?” Steve sent him a wry look, as Peter stifled a laugh.

Yes, he remembered.

It had been during the first week Peter had been officially interning for Tony. He had decided that they were going to work in the compound, mostly because their projects were deemed too dangerous for the SI tower.  They were trying to create a way to make a web formula that would detonate on impact while also leaving enough time for Peter to detach the web.

It had been three in the morning, and on a Saturday, so Peter had thought he had ample time to sneak down to the kitchen for some food. Tony had waved him off without a single warning that no one else knew he was even in the building.

So, Peter had rushed off with his blanket around his shoulders. And it had also been three in the morning, so with no small level of delirium, he had jumped to the ceiling, walking along it like most people walked on the floor, his blanket dangling down to the ground.

He hadn’t needed the lights on, and couldn’t be bothered about moving, so he had used his webs to open the cupboard and snagged a box of Pop-Tarts – chocolate with rainbow sprinkles.

And thinking,  _ hey, it’s three in the morning, by the time anyone’s awake the web will have dissolved into nothing, I’ll just leave it _ , Peter left, confident in his decision.

He had taken three very confident steps away from the kitchen, still on the ceiling, when he heard the loudest, most profane cussing, he had ever heard in his then almost fifteen years of life.

So he had run straight back in, jumping over the door frame in what seemed to also be a normal thing to do at three in the morning, and seen  **The Steve Rogers** tangled up in his web, flat on his arse and hands stuck to his feet.

He had also been shirtless. And pantless. Wearing nothing but a set of Captain America themed boxers.

And Peter, who hadn’t slept since he woke up at six-thirty the day before, did the only thing that made sense in his sleep deprived brain.

He laughed…and laughed…and laughed, collapsing onto his knees, still upside down, until he was interrupted by an also topless Bucky and a confused Iron Man wondering where his intern was.

At that point the laughter turned to silent waves of mirth right before he was shocked out of his humour by FRIDAY turning on the lights at maximum brightness.

After explaining that no, he wasn’t stuck to the ceiling, and that yes, he could free Steve Rogers, and  _ no I’m pretty sure I’m not a threat _ , it became a rule that all webs made in public places were to be removed as soon as possible. And a spray bottle of the web-dissolver also sat underneath the sink permanently.

Using his foot, he wiped away the last of the liquid, just as the mush was dumped into the trifle dish.

They stared at it for a moment, as the purply grey mush settled into a pile, the dome threatening to spill over the sides. As he watched, the purple solidified and turned into a streaky lines, and the orange bloomed into a brighter, sicklier colour.

The grey seemed to fade completely, leaving it a purple orange mess.

“…so, is this the only thing to eat? Why is it sparkling? Did you add glitter?” Peter asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Steve shook his head. “It’s dessert. Thor gave me this powdery sort of stuff. Apparently, it makes whatever it added to taste good.” He waved his hand distractedly. “Look good too. Something about the chemicals in the citrus – I added lemon and oranges – and the chemicals in the powder fixes whatever it added too.”

“Orange juice doesn’t add orange colour like that, dude. So that’s what makes it a delicacy? The silvery stuff?”

Steve shrugged with one shoulder, reading over the piece of paper with the recipe. “It called for oranges to be frozen, grated, and then bled on paper towels to extract colour. I couldn’t be bothered, and we didn’t have any dye, so I added carrot juice. And yes, by the way, the silver stuff and the marrowbone of a fourth-generation father killed in a summer storm.”

Peter was quiet for a beat, staring at the trifle dish. The mush inside twisted as though alive, the colours moving and out of view. “Did you add any?” He wasn’t talking about carrot juice.

“No, I added gelatine instead. I made roast, by the way, since this was the only recipe Thor gave me to make. He tried to cook it and broke the door getting the blue berries.”

Peter glanced towards the fridge doors, not seeing anything wrong with them.

“Nah,” Steve said, catching his glance. “The outdoor one.”

“We have an outdoor freezer?”

“…no. No, we don’t.”

Peter scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Steve didn’t wait for him to reply, when he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Dinner’s ready.”

The cursing stopped from the living room. A second later Bucky, wearing a set of grey sweatpants and a large hoodie with the avengers symbol in the center of in, wandered in with a smug expression. Clint followed, wearing a set of sweats and a t-shirt that said “Caw Caw Mother Truckers”.

Behind both of them wandered in Wanda, nose buried in a book with Vision beside her.

“Great,” Steve said brightly, just as he turned on the stove to finish cooking what looked like peas. The trifle dish he covered with a tea towel, and placed carefully into the nearly overflowing fridge. “You guys can set the table. For eight please?”

Peter laughed at the disgruntled expressions, before joining them as Steve ordered him to help.

“Not so funny now, is it?” Clint asked with a shit-eating grin.

“No, it’s still funny, I just thought it was rude to laugh while you guys seemed to be in so much pain. Who won bowling?”

At this, Clint’s smile turned into a scowl that would rival Happy’s. “Not important.”

Across from him, Bucky gave a quick bellowing laugh. “He’s just upset that I won. Twelve out of twelve strikes.”

Clint waved his arms dramatically, shockingly not dropping the stack of plates he was holding. Why he had taken them from the kitchen was a mystery – they served dinner in the kitchen, and then ate at the table. The only things being put out was cutlery, cups, and jugs of orange juice.

“Nearly two years since he moved in, and for the time ever, he actually won a game. What sort of bull shirt is this?”

Bucky shrugged, before saying, entirely too casual for someone who just won their first game in literally nearly two years he had been playing them, “Beginners luck.”

For a single moment it was quiet – just a beat of perfect stillness – before Clint started throwing the plates at him, Bucky began laughing so hard he collapsed to the ground, and Wanda started waving her hand to stop each plate before they hit Bucky.

Vision appeared resigned, but Peter could see him holding back a smile, and Peter had jumped to the roof as soon as he had started laughing and Clint aimed his weapon at him.

Said weaponry bounced off him and fell to the ground with a few dull dunks. Apparently Wanda didn’t think to save Peter, her book all of a sudden far more interesting.

They had long ago gotten rid of all ceramic plates. Now they were solely cheap plastic from Walmart because that seemed the only place most of them could go without being mobbed by eager fans.

The good china was reserved for when they had guests over. Peter didn’t know what actually constituted a guest, because the single time he had seen someone who might actually be considered a guest, the most they had done was given T’Challa and Shuri the good seats.

But now they had to fight for their seats, just like everyone did. They were family after all. The only two people who had first dibs on their seats no matter the occasion were Pepper and Okoye, and if it was someone’s birthday, then they got third choice.

Eventually, somehow, things calmed down, and although Bucky was still crying, the table was set.

A stranger might have asked what the hell just happened, and why did this escalate too quickly, but Peter knew, and so did every single member of the family, it was because when it came to games that were played using technology, The Winter Soldier was useless.

It seemed that although he could hack into the pentagram and sneak past hundreds and thousands of cameras without being spotted, when it came to the game’s aspect of technology, he was hopelessly, irrevocably lost.

It had taken two years of single-minded determination, he admitted as he poured a bottle of cold water into the clear plastic jug Peter was holding, for him to be able to do that with Wii Bowling.

“The first couple of months was spent trying to stop letting go of the controller,” he muttered a bit sheepishly.

“Don’t you have like, literal superhuman reflexes or something? Surely that would have helped you learn this o, so foreign skill?” Peter asked as he carefully let go of the jug, in the center of the table. It was set at its second smallest setting, only allowing for ten people to sit at it.

And there were only eight people actually coming to dinner, so it was perfect.

They went back to get another two jugs, one at each quarter mark of the rectangle.

“Yeah but when I usually throw something, it’s with the express thought in mind that…” he changed his voice to a robotic and choppy sound, “…this is a bomb or knife and with it I will hurt people…” he changed back to his smooth accent, “…so I mean, it was a tad difficult to unlearn that.”

“I just hope the next time you go out you don’t try and bowl someone under. Like fake throwing a bomb and full on expecting the words strikeout to appear in giant words in front of you.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal,” Steve’s voice pitched in from where he was squatting in front of the steaming oven.

“No,” agreed Bucky. “It really would not be ideal.”

The conversation was interrupted as Tony and Pepper walked in. Thor followed just behind, looking freshly showered. He was also wearing a very thin t-shirt, with the word’s god of thunder? no sorry miss, god of hammers at your service.

Peter had designed it himself, with Sam flying out to pick it up from the company as soon as it had been printed. Peter had said it would be fine to wait until it arrived in the post, but Sam had been insistent. Peter didn’t ask why, and Sam had never volunteered the information.

Pepper was dressed in a soft pair of flannel pyjamas and a cream coloured sweater, while Tony looked as though he had just spent the last twenty four hours sitting underneath a car, his hair covered in grease and his skin lined with soot.

Steve pointed at Tony, “Go wash up, otherwise you’re eating dinner at the kitchen island,” and to Pepper he said, “Pepper, wonderful as always. I like the sweater; it makes your hair look very pretty.”

Pepper walked up to the big man and hugged him. “I’m glad you're safe after yesterday’s work. And no need to flatter me. I forgive you for whatever you did.”

Peter watched as Steve laughed, carefully setting down the roast and beginning to carve it. “I didn’t actually do anything. I just thought I would apologize for making you get Tony.”

“Well,” Pepper said with a shrug. “It was either I asked him to come, or someone else would drag him to dinner. It looks wonderful by the way.”

And it truly did. Roasted beef and crispy bread and gravy that would have sent him drooling even if he didn’t have enhanced senses.

Peter hoped her appetite would remain the same for dessert.

He joined the line just behind Clint, who was first. They grabbed a plate from the stack on the kitchen island and one by one moved down past the roast, the mashed potatoes, a scoop of peas, and then finally a giant heaping of gravy.

Clint’s plate was what an average human might consider hefty.

Peter’s plate was filled with so much food when he lifted it up to his nose to sniff the delicious food, the mountainous tower was at the same level as the top of his head.

He nearly wept as he sat down at the table and was forced to wait for the others to join him. In the meantime, he asked FRIDAY where Nat was.

“Sleeping, Peter.” Vaguely he heard a choking noise come from the kitchen, but he ignored it. FRI kept talking as though nothing had changed. “She has activated Protocol: Doctors Orders, Let Me Sleep, and has asked to be woken no sooner than four am for your training session.”

Peter nodded as he poured himself a glass of the cold orange juice closest to him. “Cool, thanks Friday.”

Wanda sat next to the left of him, Clint already sitting on his right.

Peter watched nervously, and he saw out of the corner of his eye Clint do the same, as Pepper walked in. Sometimes, if one of them had done something particularly dangerous or stupid (“Mr. Barton, Mr. Parker, if every spec of glitter is not removed from my office before five sharp, then there will be dire consequences”) she would make them move out of their seat so she could sit there.

Luckily, it seemed neither Peter or Clint had been especially dumb because she sat opposite Peter, with Tony on her right, and Thor on her left.

Bucky sat next to Tony, and Steve sat at the head of the table, so they could hold hands, or play footsie, or do something equally cutesy and gross.

Vision sat next to Wanda, so the only spare seats at the table were the other head seat, and right next to Clint.

Peter loved his entire family, but sometimes it was nice to have everyone sitting close together, instead of some on the couches, some at the kitchen island, some at the table, and if it was especially crowded, then a few sitting on the ceiling like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Often it was only Peter doing that.

At Steve’s nod, the cook for the night always decided when they could start eating, Peter dived into his meal.

He finished far too quickly.

And, apparently, Steve was of the same opinion because when Thor announced it was time for dessert, he was the only one apart from Peter to pale.

In fact, everyone else looked far too delighted as Thor came back with the trifle, still streaked with purple and orange but now it looked almost…yum? Not disgusting?

It was like someone had taken the mush, thrown it out, and replaced it with pale lavender and orange swirls in a cream coloured custard.

“I don’t understand,” muttered Steve. Peter hummed in agreement. Perhaps it was the powder?

Thor boomed with laughter. “It was the powder of unicorn essence that did the trick. Truly magical, don’t you think?”

Steve nodded sagely, as though he truly understood. Peter didn’t bother. He had no idea how it worked. And he didn’t quite care.

“Unicorn essence?” he asked as Thor scooped out a heap onto a plate. It held its shape perfectly, not oozing out. He snagged a spoon from the pile Thor had also brought out.

“Unicorn fluid mixed with this absorbent substance, and then dried and ground up.”

Peter froze. He didn’t really want to ask but not knowing seemed worse. “What does unicorn fluid mean?”

Thor fidgeted, piling his own plate high and sticking a spoon into the mound. It stood upright. “Just try the food first.”

“But-”

He was cut off by a large hand clapping onto his shoulder. Thor looked at him sternly. “Just try it, Peter. It will taste good.”

Against his better judgment, he sat down in his original seat and stared at the small amount. It seemed to loom over him.

Internally he shrugged. Thor hadn’t killed him yet, and besides, Professor Quirrell didn’t outright die because of unicorn blood, so whatever unicorn fluid was, it probably wasn’t that bad.

He shared an uneasy look with Steve.

Peter turned back to his plate, lifted the spoon gingerly between his forefinger and thumb, scrunched his face tight, and closed his mouth.

Flavour exploded in his mouth, the taste of blueberries and oranges dancing along his tongue.

He swallowed audibly, only pausing long enough to breath before shoving the next spoon full into his mouth. Around him he watched the others do the same.

It didn’t even taste like carrots. Or unicorn fluid. Or whatever the absorbent substance was. In fact, it was absolutely delicious.

He was on his second helping, when across from him Tony said, quite innocently, “So, kid.”

Peter hummed around a mouth full of the used-to-be-mush.

“Since when does FRIDAY call you Peter?”

Peter choked, his eyes bulging out from his head.

Goddammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my guys, it was slightly edited by an absolute babe (my dearest Beta, missmarvelle)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7481 words

The only days Peter was asleep by ten-thirty were Sundays and Wednesdays, because as much as he loved the others, the only one whose opinion that he counted as truly impartial when it came to his sleep schedule – or lack thereof – was his mama spider’s. She was a reformed assassin and knew that some things were more important than sleep. Such was the reason why he was asleep by ten-thirty.

And without fault, when FRIDAY started beeping at four in the morning, he woke up tired and moaning – yet more awake than he had felt since Saturday.

The curtains rose as soon as he told FRIDAY he was awake, and the windows slipped open just enough to a soft breeze to enter his room. It was completely dark outside, even the stars were hiding.

He whimpered and rolled out of bed. He landed on wobbly feet and shuffled over to his walk-in closet. Yawning into his hand, he grunted as his foot tripped over a heavy cloth covered object, and his foot connected again when he booted it away.

It hit the wall with a dull thud.

He yawned into his hand and grunted as he felt around the floor for his work out gear. That was when he realised it was his backpack, he just kicked across his room.

Stupid fucking backpack.

He hadn’t even realised he had spoken out loud until FRIDAY said softly, presumably for the sake of his sleep-sensitive ears, “Protocol:…” Steve’s voice cut in, with the sounds of explosions in the background, “Language…” here FRIDAY came back, “…has been activated. One dollar to the pool.”

“God dammit.”

“Protocol: Language has been activated. Another dollar to the pool, Kiddie McHackerson.”

Peter paused in the middle of stumbling into a pair of leggings, made of the same material as his spider suit, just in black with a red and white spider sitting on his left knee and a web on his right.

“Kiddie McHackerson, FRI? Really? I thought we were friends?” he asked incredulously, holding back a yawn until he finished speaking. He pulled on a long sleeve shirt, and then a hoodie. On the hoodie was a chibi spiderman resting on what looked like a gargoyle.

He pointedly didn’t pay attention to the dollar taken from his account, money from Tony and Pepper when he did his chores without complaining.

It had taken him three months of him living in the compound before he was deemed officially part of the family and could now do chores with the rest of them.

But even though everyone else in the family used whatever money they accumulated from their apparel being sold, all of Peter’s earnings from spiderman merch were put away, and instead he got paid for his chores, even though no one else did.

Peter had brought this up once and had been redacted so much money that it had taken him a further three months for him to start actually earning money instead of just paying it back.

As he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, now slightly more awake.

“Boss changed it yesterday after he found my rewritten code. If the kid wants to hack you, then he deserves it,” FRIDAY said in Tony’s voice, and Peter grunted around a mouth full of toothpaste. “And we are friends, Kiddo.” She had changed back to her own Irish lilt.

Peter groaned into her hands just before he opened the door. “Great, now I can’t even be mad at you.” He shrugged and slipped into a pair of shoes that were really socks, made from the same material as his leggings and long sleeve shirt. “At least you’re calling me kiddo, instead of Kiddie McHackerson every time.”

He could have sworn that he heard FRI laugh, but the sun hadn’t even woken up yet, so he brushed it off as paranoia.

On silent feet, he gently closed the door and wandered out past the other bedrooms, bathrooms, and he was pretty sure that one was a linen closet but he had been too scared back when he moved in, and now was too scared to ask.

On silent feet he crept out of his room and slid down the rail to the bottom floor. It was a simple apartment. The ground floor had a lounge area in the front room, and through the door by the stairs was the kitchen and dining room.

The second floor, the floor he just came from, had his bedroom, his walk-in, and a bathroom. Tony and Steve had designed it after the whole ‘we just got thrown into space’ thing, when everyone had come to a unanimous decision to re-build the compound into two sectors. Base, and Home.

Base was filled with the actual artifacts from the many different wars and battles they had fought, unlike the replicas sitting in the museum in the SI tower.

Base was filled with a gym twice the size as the one at the tower, and where all of the team’s gear was also created.

Prototypes were built at Base, in case a over powered Widow Bite took out an entire floor of SI, and then perfected at the tower once the threat of explosion was gone and Peter needed to completely focus on his work and not on the algebra test he had stuck to the ceiling in a fit of mild rage.

Home, however, was where Peter was able to walk to the kitchen in his pyjamas and take a quick nap on the ceiling without anyone judging him. Home was where he had food fights with a cheating Wanda (it’s not cheating Peter; you’re squatting on the roof) and got his feet rubbed when Loki was home.

While Base was a labyrinth of rooms that he had only just started getting right when he wanted to go somewhere, Home was a mess of scattered buildings, all shapes and sizing, starting with the main hub housing the family kitchen, dining room, and lounge. The other buildings were spread out from the hub, scattered out and connected by the cobblestone path.

Above Home was a shield, similar to the one at Wakanda, only this one only allowed certain people to enter and didn’t stop people from seeing the actual buildings. Between each of the buildings were fairy lights, always on and always bright.

His building was one of the smaller ones – with him living by himself it didn’t make sense for him to get one of the larger ones.

He strode out of his door, and onto the wide-open pathway, cobblestone smooth against his slightly padded feet. He ran his hands over the bushes and trees lining the center of the pathway, the leaves dense enough that if someone were forced to take cover they couldn’t be seen.

Over half of the rooms were empty the majority of the year, but Home wasn’t just for the avengers that lived on earth.

It was for every single avenger in the universe, from Nebula and Carol to Shuri and T’Challa. And for people like Scott and Hope there was enough room for Cassie, and for Carol to bring her family during Christmas and New Year.

Besides, when everyone was Home, it was worth it to live in a large area.

Base and Home used to be connected, back when it was still possible to walk from the labs to the kitchen without having to go outside.

Together they were the compound, but he never really saw them as the same thing.

Of course, that was only a couple of weeks after Germany, and only a month before space where they met Carol and the Guardians, so really, he reasoned as he glared at the outside world from the backdoor, he should be used to going outside at four in the morning.

He slipped into the hub, the lights flickering on dimly. He still squinted at the brightness, and asked FRI to lower them. She did, until it was just bright enough for him to see but if anyone else came in, they would have been wandering blind.

He scrambled to the cupboards in the kitchen, snagging an apple before he shuffled over towards the door, kicking shoes aside as he slipped out.

Peter closed the door gently, before jogging off the cobblestones just outside the hub onto the road. He was only on it for a second before he deviated into the dense thicket of trees separating Base and Home, reading the path that appeared only when he stepped on it.

This path, one of the only ways to get to Base without taking the road for two miles around the tree, was wide enough for a couple large cars to drive side by side and still not touch. It was lit every hundred feet or so with bright lights on poles.

It was added only after the third fire incident.

Coincidentally, Peter was now also only allowed to cook with significant supervision and guidance. But he liked to think of these incidences as separate events.

Peter jumped up to the top of the pole, two stories off the ground. From there he quickly leaped his way to Base.

On the very last pole, he sprung off with just a hair more force than he had been using before and flew through the air towards the brightly lit floor to ceiling windows. Nat was in the gym, and every single light was shining.

He landed with perfect grace on the wall, waving to Nat who seemed to be sipping away at a steaming drink. She waved back as he crawled along the vertical surface towards the tiny opening at the very top.

It was just wide enough for one person to squeeze through; added after Peter had done the exact same move the first time and then forced to crawl all the way down to the floor – a good four stories up from the ground, and then walk the three hundred rough feet to the exit.

It had been embarrassing, and Nat had sent it to everyone possible.

Which, of course, was everyone. Because they were a family, and families didn’t let a pesky thing such as in the middle of space fighting a planet stop them from teasing one of their youngest in their moment of crisis.

“Morning Nat,” he called as he climbed in, swinging along the upside-down obstacle course to the rope hanging from the ceiling to a couple feet off the ground. He dropped from the halfway mark, roughly two stories off the ground.

It got easier to refer to things in stories when he was used to slinging around buildings half of the time, so it became a habit.

“Morning Peter,” she replied as he jogged up to her.

She downed the rest of her – was that just hot water? – and gently placed the cup on the ground. “Done your warmup?”

He nodded. It wasn’t really a warmup, travelling from Home to Base, but the very first time Nat had instructed him to ‘get warm’ it took until five, and by then they had only done another hour of fighting.

They retreated to the middle of the rather larger floor, covered in thin mats – soft enough to not break bones against, but not so soft as to let people forget when it felt like to fall face first into concrete.

She asked him if he was ready with a slightly raised right eyebrow, and a dangerous smile.

He said yes by clenching his fists and tapping his right foot twice.

Nat gave him no warning, her foot kicking up and nearly taking off his jaw as soon as his foot touched the ground the second time.

If his world didn’t basically move in slow motion as soon as his spider sense went off, he wouldn’t have even seen it before he was face down on the mat. But he did, the hairs on the back of his neck standing upright, and he stepped backwards just enough for it to glide past him.

And using what Nat called a nice normal level of strength, sprung forward slightly faster than the average human, the same speed Nat moved at, with his own leg sweep.

On anyone else it would have sent them sprawling. He had used the exact same move on multiple robbers and even a guy that wouldn’t stop following a waitress home from her work.

And it had worked a peach.

But Nat jumped it and counted with a ferocious smile and clenched fists.

His breath was knocked out of his lungs, and both him and Nat earned a few new bruises along their ribs before the sun was rising and FRI announced it was six o’clock.

Chest heaving, Peter squeezed out a rough sounding, “Swim?”

Nat, breathing just a touch less hard, nodded softly, a satisfied smile on her face. “Race you,” she asked.

Peter nearly started crying. “No thank you, mama,” he muttered as they walked together to the end of the room. Slipping past the doors, Peter dived into the pool without hesitation, Nat following a second after.

The first time he had let mama slip out, it had been at four thirty in the morning, and Peter had, against all sound advice, gone to sleep that morning at two. Nat had frozen, and Peter had landed his first ever punch – his fist landing on her thigh as her legs grappled his waist.

“Not gonna lose today, mama…oh shit sorry.” Peter scrambled away from her, standing awkwardly with one hand on his waist and the other in his hair. “It’s just that I – kind of, slightly, just a tiny little bit, call you mama spider in my, like, thoughts.”

Nat looked pensive – and whenever Peter thought about this moment late at night when he was tinkering with his web shooters or the widow bites – even a little bit excited and waved away his concern.

“We’re both arachnids are we not? I suppose it can slide – baby spider.” Nat had laughed when Peter giggled at the surprise nickname, and then the pair had continued sparring.

In payback for landing a punch while Nat was distracted, he hadn’t landed another for another three weeks after.

So, the nicknames were born, sometimes spoken in Russian or Japanese of, if they were feeling really crazy, Latin.

Peter only swam for a moment, before climbing out. He waved goodbye to Nat as he left, his mama idly floating on her back.

When he left, he heard her climb out herself. He poked his head back in just as she was wringing out her shoulder length hair.

“Wanna lift back Home, mama?”

Nat replied instantly, without even a moment's hesitation. “Sure thing, baby spider.”

Once her hair was somewhat dry, but also at the same time soaking wet, she climbed onto Peter’s back next to the rope swing. He jumped two thirds of the way, grabbing on with his still slippery hands and easily climbed up the rest.

Even with his hands slippery, they didn’t falter once.

Most of the time he was carrying people he only noticed because he was holding onto them with one hand. But he just gave Nat a piggyback, so it was as though he were jumping normally.

He swung along the obstacle course to the windows, using one hand to secure Nat to the horizontal rope wall, he slipped out of the window, and carefully pulled her behind him.

She looked about as worried as she had during the entire fight. That was, not at all.

A warm feeling spread across his chest at that moment.

Peter didn’t know what he had done to earn such trust in these people he called family, but he was forever thankful that he had.

She clung to his back like a spider, as he pushed off from the glass and landed on the pole. There were two feet shaped dents on the first pole from where he landed.

Then it was a quick journey across to Home, where Peter jumped straight from his spot on the pole to one of the smaller buildings. Peter jumped twice more before he reached Nat’s buildings.

He crawled over to the balcony just next to them, and lowered Nat onto it.

“Thank you, Peter,” she said with a wave, gliding into her room with a natural grace Peter tried to emulate once and had nearly broken his nose. It was his fault for trying to do it on the side of a giant Lego Death star, but he didn’t tell people that.

All he had said was Scott tripped me, which had been quickly followed by, okay I didn’t mean that. Sorry Scott. I’ll make you cookies if you forgive me.

In the end it had been Bucky that made the cookies, the path had been built between Base and Home, and Peter had taken notes from his position on the ceiling, sitting cross legged with a hologram from his SiPad in the air in front of him.

After dropping off Nat, he leapt over the roof to his balcony and slipped in. Quickly he showered and dressed in a set of black jeans with rips over the knees, and a short sleeve t-shirt coloured a nice soft navy blue.

He slipped on his watch that hid one of his web shooters inside of them on his left, and a bracelet on the other that also hid a web shooter.

Just as he was about to leave, he slipped his Ear-Comms into his bag.

He glanced outside, before grabbing his black Stark industries jacket, with iron man red sleeves, gold stitching, and silver lining. Across where his left breast pocket should have been a magnetic strip where he could have stuck his card, it simply said in gold, Peter Parker.

It was one of the only things that actually had his true name – not just Peter Parks, or as the interns seemed to refer to him no matter how many times he asked, Mini-T.

He had worn the jacket around the other workers, who also had the same jacket just with a magnetic strip instead of their names embroidered, but it didn’t seem to change their opinion.

Didn’t matter what FRIDAY announced him as in front of “strangers” (interns weren’t strangers according to Tony, so he was still called Peter Parker in front of them) or what his jacket said, or what any of the avengers called him when they needed something from him, he was always going to be Mini-T in their eyes.

Peter didn’t mind, not really. Especially when the first thing he smelt as he entered the hub was often pancakes or eggs or bacon or waffles-

He wiped away a strand of drool, swallowing thickly.

If homemade waffles were on the table, he would have legally changed his name to Mini-T years ago if they weren’t just a perk of living with mother hen Steven Rogers.

He was about to enter the kitchen when Steven waved him out with a tense smile.

He sat in one of the stools, leaning his elbows on the bench as Steve pulled out a fresh and golden-brown waffle.

“You are literally the greatest human in the entire world,” he told the Captain as he put a mountain of fresh waffles down in front of Peter, a unnaturally bright purple smoothie being placed just out of arm's reach – so when Peter suddenly remembered and lunged for it, it didn’t spill everywhere.

“Oh, I know, Peter,” Steve said with a smile – before promptly burning his hand on the waffle ironing and dropping it to the ground with a yelp.

Now Peter wasn’t stupid – occasionally he was dumb and idiotic – but he wasn’t stupid, so he didn’t say what first came to mind (so I guess so more waffles for a while then) and instead asked if Steve was okay as he sipped his bright purple smoothie.

“Do you know who's going into town this morning?”

“I think it’s just you kid.” Bucky said this, as he entered through the back door, soaking wet and smelling of fresh water. He grabbed the entire pot of coffee and collapsed into the stool next to Peter.

“Yeah?” Peter trusted Bucky in most things.

Most things – not all things.

Bucky grunted in the affirmative, waving his hand distracted. “FRI tell him I’m right?”

“Luckily, 127 Hours,” FRIDAY said, using Bucky’s code-name. It was made after an eventful movie night where they had eventually decided on watching the movie. “You are correct, only Kiddo is the only person needing a ride to the Tower this morning.”

Like all of the smoothies he had ever consumed in the past two years, it was made with the super soldier protein powder designed to give him all the nutrients he needs so that he didn’t have to pop his stomach in order to stop feeling hungry.

“Kiddo is also running late for school.”

Peter choked.

He stumbled out of his chair, up on his feet in a flash and sprinting out of the building.

He stopped just long enough to grab his shoes from the next to the door, before sprinting outside to the large cemented square in which sat the multiple quinjet’s that were used to take the family around the world.

He veered straight towards the smallest jet, smaller than the one from yesterday.

It was roughly the size of yesterday's quinjet’s wing, built specifically for when Peter was the only one going to school. The door opened just as he got there, and he barrelled into the cockpit.

He pressed his hand against the scanner as he fell into the single seat.

“Voice activation required.”

“Ugh…Underoos?”

“Access denied.”

Fuck sakes.

“…Kiddie McHackerson?”

“Access granted. Welcome back Kiddo. To the Tower?”

“Yes please.”

Somehow, impossibly, it was seven in the morning when the quinjet fired its engines and roared into the air.

He ignored the urge to pace the jet – even in the ten minutes he had spare, he would have had to hunch his back and taken roughly three to four steps before turning around.

The jet landed on the old Iron Man landing pad; the larger landing zones spread around in a circle surrounding the top level of the building. He tumbled out, but not before he activated the security measures and made sure the camouflage settings were still working.

“Kiddo, Happy would like you to stop by security before you make you way down to the garage,” FRIDAY told him as soon as he stepped into the elevator.

Peter waved distractedly, with a mumbled thankyou as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, finally able to take a small break.

Quickly the elevator made its way down to the second level.

The doors opened to a small reception area, with black carpets, soft white walls, and grey fixtures like the seats along the corner and the desk where the reception sat.

He heard a few gasps and even a quiet whimper from his left, and he glanced towards the tour group gathered there. It was a bunch of students, all staring at the teenager who had just exited the Avengers Personal Elevator.

He waved with a nervous smile, and he watched as a few of them blushed. A boy who looked older than him asked their tour guide if they could come talk to him.

The tour guide, an employee who had been working at SI for three years – as only interns with three years’ worth of experience could guide the student tours around the building – seemed hesitant.

Peter waved towards the intern – Emily he thought her name was – seemed to wilt and even her bright pink hair cut close to her head seemed to grow dimmer as she scanned her database for record of what he was doing and if she would lose her job if the students around her were able to talk to him.

Sure, she talked to him with almost no problem – but there was a difference between working with someone and letting ten teenagers swamp him when he seemed busy.

The wave seemed to incense the group of ten, because they stopped staring and surged towards each other.

“Who is he?”

“Why haven’t we ever heard of him?”

“Do you think he knows the Avengers?”

Peter could hear the way they said avengers. With a capital A, as though they hadn’t seen The Bruce Banner eat a kebab with a fork like a monster.

It was an oddly small group – most of the time the tours were split up into groups of no less than fifteen.

The biggest he had spoken too had been twenty-seven – and it had been a mess.

He glanced towards the glass doors leading down towards the security guards break room, sparing a look towards the left of the doors, down the darkened hallway where tour groups were led for their pre-tour presentation.

Peter had given one of those himself once. It had certainly been an experience to say the least.

Emily seemed to hunch into herself further and further, until Peter stepped towards her with a reassuring grin.

“Hey Emily,” he said as though they were lifelong friends, even though they really hadn’t spent more than a few minutes together working on a project every couple of days. Although in hindsight that was actually a lot of time.

She was nice, but sometimes people don't click if they don’t spend enough time together consistently – unlike him and Amanda who had grown so comfortable with his presence in Research and Development that she asked him to get her and her table mates Starbucks from the cafeteria.

And he spent less time around that table than he did Emily’s, who was usually working on things more closely related to medical advancements rather than the technological advances Amanda worked on.

Of course, this only happened when he was by himself and one of the avengers weren’t following him around with a soft look in their eyes.

That had only happened three times – the first time they had been swamped when Steve and Bucky had followed him down, the second time had been Loki and he hadn’t been able to talk to anyone without them basically running away, and the third time had been with Vision and Peter hadn’t even been greeted with a simple hello.

In hindsight, taking what was essentially a walking, talking android made up off the internet to the technology level of the R&D labs wasn’t the best idea.

Emily looked up with a nervous smile, but her shoulders had stopped hunching into her chest. “Hey Min- ahem, Peter. Could I talk to you for just a second?”

“Yeah sure.”

Peter slowed down as he got closer, and Emily stepped towards him until they were close enough to talk quietly.

“So um, I don’t know how much you heard but these students were wondering if they were able to talk to you. You don’t have to at all of course, feel free to refuse. I – I just slightly…well, I told them it was the Avenger’s personal elevator, as well as Ms. Pott’s, Mr. Starks, and Mr. Parkers, and then you stepped out like it was natural, Mini-t.” The entire time she talked she looked like she was sinking into the ground.

Even though she introduced him as Mr. Parker, using his actual name with a bunch of school aged kids, he laughed.

Peter couldn’t help it. It was the smallest, tiniest giggle he probably could have suppressed, but it seemed to do the trick because Emily stopped sinking into the ground because she thought she ruined Peter’s day.

He glanced towards the ten students gathered and asked, “Did you want me to talk to them? Maybe ask a few questions?”

Emily’s eyes widened comically. “Would you really do that? Do you have time?”

Peter didn’t have time.

He was running late for school, Happy wanted to talk with him about something important, and if he was lucky and the thing wasn’t that important, then he would still have to deal with either Flash or Mr. Harrington or an unhappy Happy.

Peter shrugged. He was already late. If he had a day off today, he probably would have been asked to talk on the tour anyway. “Yeah of course.”

Emily smiled widely, showing pearly white crooked teeth. She stepped back over towards the group and Peter followed with a smile.

“So,” Emily started, and the class went silent immediately. She gestured to Peter who gave them a crooked smile and sent them a two fingered wave. “This is Peter Parker, and he’s generously agreed to answer some questions. Mr. Parker, these are the winners of the inner-school based competition from Saint. Nichols, a school in Brooklyn.”

He held back a wince.

Again, his last name was used, but it seemed fine, because instead of asking how old he was, hands shot into the air as though he were an authority figure.

Well, technically, here he was.

But then, as the dread crept into his stomach, the other parts of the sentence connected in his mind.

Brooklyn and Queens were much too close together. In fact, if Peter was remembering correctly, he had versed that exact school during a Decathlon competition.

Not these students specifically, because while these were seniors, he was still a junior, but it was just a bit too close for comfort.

But no one seemed to recognise him in the slightest, and he simply pointed to a dark-skinned boy with a halo of curls around his head. It was the same one that had asked if they could ask him some questions.

“Um…hi,” said the boy before wincing. It seemed like all of his courage had melted into the ground.

I must look older than I thought. This guy is at least a year older than me, not to mention taller. Peter tried not to frown. Nah I’m still baby-faced. It must just be because I came out of the elevator.

“Hey.” Peter waited for him to ask his question, but when it seemed like he had frozen, he asked gently, “Did you have a question?”

The boy stuttered, “Y-yes. Um, what do you do here? Because you, like, just exited the Avenger’s only elevator.”

Peter blinked. He didn’t know what he had expected, yet he was still surprised.

“Oh um, simple really. First what’s your name?” May had always said be polite first, and then if they do something rude you can eviscerate them with manners.

“Blake.”

“Well, Blake, I kind of help advance the technology, used both in the building and at the compound, and when it’s not that, I’m usually running errands for Pepper or hanging out either in R&D or the sublevels.” A standard answer for when he was asked similar questions when he was at the tower during a free period.

Only, he realised after finishing his sentence, normally it was said to other classes that lived further away from Queens than Brooklyn.

“As for why I was in the avenger’s elevator.” Peter shrugged, too late to back out now, otherwise they would just get more and more curious. “It’s twice as fast as the other ones, so it's easier to get messages up and down the building when the CEO herself asks you to get her some coffee.”

Pepper had never asked Peter to get her a coffee when he hadn’t offered beforehand a day in her life.

Pepper had never asked Peter to get her a coffee a day in her life. He still got her coffee, but that was just so in case someone who knew he wasn’t allowed coffee came across him, he had an excuse.

Also, it was the nice thing to do.

But he couldn’t well say he was an avenger, so it was easier to lie and say he was a simple errand boy, rather than he was working on magnetising the Black Widow’s widow bites and trying to figure out how to sneak hair dye into Clint’s shampoo to give him pink hair.

Maybe green if he could convince Bruce to stop hiding all of the green dye after the last incident.

Blake looked happy with his answer, hastily scratching out the words in his notepad. A glance around at the other students told him they were also writing down his answers word for word.

“Any other questions?”

All of their hands shot up, and he chuckled. “Sorry, I only have time for one or two more. Yeah you?” He pointed at a short Asian girl with sharp black bangs and a pointed short bob cut.

“Teresa Harrow,” she said confidently. “When you say working on ‘advancing technology both here and at the compound’, what do you mean specifically?”

“Well occasionally I work with some of the scientists and engineers working both in R&D and down in the bio labs to comprise new ways of thinking and creating things to run as efficiently as possible, whether in the actual building or in things being sold to the public.”

Peter pulled up his jacket sleeve, so his watch was free from the stiff fabric and he gestured over it.

A blue hologram appeared above his wrist, and he tapped at it until the most recent edition of the SiPhone appeared, spinning in a slow circle. It wasn’t as high-tech as the one in his pocket, the unreleased addition of the same model.

Slightly thinner, shorter life span, but it wasn’t affected by the heat or the cold or even water as much as the released model. The one in his pocket also had the phone numbers of each different family member, and had two separate AI’s built into it.

In front of him, the students gasped.

“See here, this is the most recent update released to the public.” He pointed towards the hologram, increasing the picture until it was roughly the size of his face, then swiping away the top and bottom layers of the phone, so the insides were revealed.

“Now I helped a few of the engineers and programmers figure out how to structure the phones insides to help get a thinner and more manageable phone. I didn’t really do much, but sometimes all it takes is a new perspective – preferably someone who hasn’t been looking at the exact same blueprint for the past seven hours.” A few of the students laughed at that, the others not even looking up from their notepads.

“It was kinda like a big game of Tetris. And at the compound, they need the most advanced technology possible, so one part of my job is to be constantly looking for ways to make things more efficient and smooth running.”

The other week Maria Hill had asked him to block all games on the computers, because some of the workers wouldn’t stop playing galaga, after Tony had refused stating that it was an affront to human rights, Maria.

So, you know, not a total lie.

Teresa nodded sagely, as she jotted down every single thing he said like it was gospel. He even saw her outline Pepper’s name multiple times with an arrow pointing away from it that almost looked like “refers to CEO by first name”.

Oops.

Maybe he should have said Ms. Potts, and Mr. Stark.

Internally, he shrugged. There wasn’t much he could really do now anyway.

He pinched the hologram with his hand and the entire thing slipped back into his watch. Then he made the mistake of checking the time.

He cringed. “Sorry I’ve got to run, I have a meeting with the Head of Security and he might kill me if I’m late,” he said hastily, even though he was already running late and really what was another five minutes on the ten that Happy was presumably stewing on already.

That earned a few chuckles, so obviously they hadn’t met the Head of Security.

“It was nice to meet you all,” he called back as he walked up to the large double doors, made of clear glass, with a rather large rectangle of metal where the two doors met so you could push them open without smudging the glass.

There was a scanner that reminded Peter of the ones in the Incredibles to the right of the doors, but instead of inserting a card, you could just scan it over the black part until the circle around it glowed green.

But for Peter, all he had to do was walk straight through them. The most effort he had to employ was pushing them open, the scanner to his right glowing green with a small ding.

They did the same for Happy and Pepper, and Tony presumably if he ever went down to security, so it wasn’t too far out of the realm that he could get away without scanning something.

But then again, he thought as he heard the students behind him gasp and their phones click, maybe it was that big of a deal.

Internally he shrugged. It was too late anyway, besides people never recognised him outside of the SI building.

Once, while sneaking around Walmart trying to keep the god of thunder as quiet as possible, someone had told him that Thor was shorter than well…Thor, so he wasn’t too worried about seeing one of the students seeing him at an inter school event.

But then again, he could spot another high school student across the road, so maybe he should have cared slightly more than almost not all.

But oh well. He couldn’t really do anything about it now. Besides he had more important stuff to worry about, like how it was already nearly twenty past seven, with his first class at eight.

He turned to wave as he reached a bend in the corridor, but only one of them waved back, the others having already moved on. As soon as he couldn’t see them anymore, he darted forward at a dead sprint.

He reached Happy’s office, at the very end of the corridor, as far away from the break room as he could possibly be, and he stopped just long enough to knock before barrelling in.

“Sorry Happy, I know I’m late.” He threw himself into one of the seats opposite Happy, who was behind his desk signing away at some documents. “I was talking to a tour group because they saw me leaving FRI’s elevator, and then Emily-”

“Kid? Emily?”

“-was so stressed out, I didn’t want to be the reason she had, like a panic attack because her kids wouldn’t stop asking questions about me-”

“Kid, I don’t-”

“-because imagine having that on your conscience. It would send me into a panic attack-”

“-care. I don’t care.”

“-and I really don’t want to have another one of tho- wait…what?”

Happy sighed. “It was either go after you, work on hiring someone to replace that asshole-”

“Protocol: Language, money added to the pool, Forehead of Security.”

“-or sit here and stew about you being late for school.” Happy rubbed at his eyes. “And then I lost track of what I was trying to decide what to do because I was up all hours of the night talking to each of the security workers when they came in, because the last time I sent out a memo three different people came up to talk to me in the first twenty minutes of reading it.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked stupidly. “What were you talking to them about?”

“About you actually. Was gonna wait until tomorrow, but then I got paranoid about one of them forcing you out on your feet, or pushing you and then FRIDAY would sound the alarm and then every single avenger in the entire universe would come soaring down to rescue you, Mr. Baby-of-the-family.”

Sometimes all Happy said was good morning. Sometimes Happy was so sleep deprived all he could do was drive or talk – but never both at the same time.

It appeared that he was sticking to talking at the moment.

“But the jobs done – and I swear to god-”

“Protocol: Language, money added to the pool, Forehead of Security.”

“Thanks FRIDAY – I swear to Thor if you mention to me that I could have just done it tomorrow I’ll drop you off outside of the building, instead of two blocks away. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

This was the part of having a family of superheroes no one talked about.

Sometimes, during missions that he didn’t go on, he couldn’t sleep because whenever he closed his eyes, he saw caskets being lowered into the ground. That was why the other week he hadn’t slept for three days, and Shuri had stayed awake with him in solidarity.

Mentally he added  _ call Mmm Whatcha Say later _ to his task list.

Knowing that Peter acknowledging Happy’s anxiety would just result in an unhappy Happy, he decided to change the topic. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Happy stopped slumping, and instead sat up straight with a bright look on his face. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was better than the sleep deprived ughness of before. “I was talking with Tony and Pepper, and we decided to – well, let me show you.”

He reached down and opened a drawer beside him.

Happy pulled out a small rectangle wooden box and tapped his fingers on it once before passing it over with a – it wasn’t quite hesitant, but it still seemed nervous.

It really must have been a late-night last night, because normally Happy was either scowling at Peter, or somewhat worried about him. The worried face usually only happened when Peter stumbled into the garage in the morning with a fresh bruise from an over enthusiastic robber.

Peter opened the case, and gasped.

It was an SI card, complete with his photo – taken from his last school photos. Luckily, it wasn’t the one where he looked shocked or had his eyes closed. It had the words Stark Industries, with his actual name below it, and the words Kiddie McHackerson, Intern printed below that.

It didn’t have his birthdate or age, but it did have the year – 2018 – beneath his photo.

Peter ran his hands over it as Happy said, “Pepper said she talked to you about it and you didn’t want one, but also agreed that it was time for you to get one anyway just in case something like Rodger happens again. To get it done by this morning from scratch, we stopped all other printing until yours was finished.”

Peter gingerly ran the tips of his fingers over the iron man red outline, contrasting sharply with the white plastic.

“Luckily, none of the badges were needed today. Normally if you were twenty-one and had already revealed your identity, everyone would know that you belonged here, if they didn’t think you outright lived here. But for safety we made an executive decision – for both yours and everyone else’s.”

While he had concluded yesterday that he didn’t need one, he couldn’t deny the sudden warmth sprouting in his chest, and the butterflies in his stomach.

Sure, he had friends all over the building, and even if he was kicked out of the compound and SI for some insane reason, forced to leave all of his work in places that would never be accessed by himself again, and even if he was kicked out the card would be deactivated – this was one of the few things he would be able to keep even if he lost everything else.

Besides, Ned would freak out.

Hell, Peter was freaking out, and he once stole a cake from the fridge and ate it with Carol on the Eiffel tower.

He smiled, so wide that all of his teeth were stinging in the cold air.

“Can I hug you?” he asked suddenly.

He glanced upwards as Happy sighed, almost like he was relieved at his reaction.

“Maybe tomorrow kid. Come on you’re gonna be late.”

Peter was already late, but he didn’t mind as he wandered into English half an hour late, citing his internship with a wide smile that he was fairly sure made no one believe he was telling the truth – but he didn’t care.

Not even when Flash told him, “You know Penis, the actual SI jackets have magnets. Not names embroidered onto the fabric.”

Peter didn’t need a magnet on his jacket, it wasn’t like he could actively wear his card, but it was still an official SI card…even if the magnet on the back of it had no purpose.

“Alright class, if you could please bring out your Essays on the fallibility of modern heroes vs ancient heroes, I’ll start collecting them.”

God fucking dammit, he knew he was forgetting something.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6362

"Was Happy mad you had detention yesterday?” Ned asked as Peter dumped his books into his locker.

Peter sighed and resisted the urge to close his locker door on his head.

An after-school detention wasn’t out of the norm for him. What was strange for Peter was not being able to tell anyone he had one after school, seeing as he didn’t actually find out about it until the very end of the day when he was closing his locker and his English teacher found him to drag him back. 

And he hadn’t even been able to have a bathroom break, Mrs. Keffords apparently not trusting him enough to have a break when he had tried to ditch.

“Nah he was fine. Just a bit worried is all.”

Peter lied.

Oh Thor, he lied. Happy hadn’t been a bit worried. The last time Peter hadn’t shown up after school on the allocated days, he had just been shot into space.

Needless to say, Happy had been extremely worried.

So, it made sense that by the time Peter was able to check his phone, he had ten missed calls, and seventeen unread texts – the very last message was confirmation from FRIDAY stating that they had successfully tracked his phone.

Yeah it had not been very fun listening to a lecture from The Captain America and The Iron Man.

But on the plus side, if he ever had another after school detention he couldn’t escape, he now had permission to use as much explicit language and excuses to get out of class.

_ “Can I, like, call Thor and have him come pick me up?” _

_ “Nah, Kiddo.” _

_ “What about Loki? He loves me?” _

_ “Son, do you really think that’s a good idea?” _

_ “Okay…what about Stephen?” _

_ “…fine, but only if he agrees.” _

Not to mention he now also had permission to call the Master of the Mystical Arts to come get him out of a detention.

“Did you end up doing the English?”

“I figured that because next lesson is like, Monday, I can write the entire thing on Sunday,” Peter said with a shrug as he entered his homeroom. MJ was already sitting down next to the window. “See you later Ned.”

“Yeah cool man.” He waved from the door and squeaked when Mr. Harrington appeared behind him. He was holding a thick stack of those large mustard yellow envelopes.

He sunk down into his seat, staring at the wooden desk and wondering if it would be a touch too suspicious if he banged his head down on it with enough force to give himself a concussion.

“You know,” she said by way of greeting, “After yesterday I think I have enough material to fill up this sketch book.”

“Because I got detention?”

“Yeah that, but also literally everything that happened afterwards.” She tilted her pad to show him what she meant, and Peter saw his own face reflected back, twisted in worry with a phone held up to his ear.

“Is that when I was talking to Happy?”

“No, this one…” she flicked through the pages, before stopping at a seemingly random one with a quiet shout of triumph, “…this one was when you were talking to Happy.”

She pointed at his bitten lip drawn in charcoal, and the hand running through his grey hair. “See the existential dread?” She shrugged. “I couldn’t quite figure out how to get the pain without drawing you crying-”

“But then it wouldn’t have been accurate,” he finished for her, pulling out his diary and flicking through it.

If he gave himself a concussion it would probably break the wooden desk in two. So perhaps, just a touch too suss.

She clicked her fingers before pointing at him with a finger gun. “Exactly, my guy. It wouldn’t have been accurate.”

Peter laughed, and heard MJ stifle her own – she had a reputation to uphold – but then Mr. Harrington cleared his throat and Peter twisted to face the front.

“Okay class, first up roll call. O’Riley put the phone down.”

As Seymour spluttered an excuse Mr. Harrington finished the roll, before writing out a list of things that were coming up.

Peter flipped through his diary and filled in the information. There was a parents evening in two weeks, maybe he could get Nat and Clint to dress up into and pretend to be his foster parents. He thought about getting either Tony, Pepper, Steve, or hell even maybe Wanda – but they were all recognisable.

Except in Walmart. No one ever noticed normally dressed people in Walmart.

He gave a small shrug. They might ask for a picture with Bucky, but how many times do you see someone with a metal arm in Walmart?

Peter shook himself slightly and zoned back in.

“Okay guys, we have an announcement to make.” Mr. Harrington clapped his hands and waited for the smaller groups at the back to pay attention. He sent then a pointed glare when it took then longer than a few seconds. “As you know, because of the whole Accords thing…”

Oh yes Peter knew about the entire Accords thing.

After Germany, it was decided to scrap the entire original Accords, with their stiff controlling laws, and a new set was written.

The Avengers were allowed to do their things – save lives, help in crisis and wars – but the only difference between the way they helped pre-Accords and post-Accords was that they had to inform whatever government of their every action, either as they were doing it, or no less than twenty-four hours after the deed was done.

It was a lot better than before – a whole lot better. At least now they weren’t confined to their own house until they were called out like a loyal dog by Thaddeus Ross, Secretary of Dickheadedness.

Another Act was added at the very last minute, perhaps in an effort to have some level of control. When the old Accords got thrown out, and the new Accords were being written, nearly every single day he heard about a new problem Thaddeus had created.

In order to stop all of the crazy suggestions (like what if the avengers brought an official with them on every mission as though that a) wouldn’t be a safety hazard, and b) wouldn’t be super annoying) the Transparency Act was put into place, about a year and a half ago.

This Act basically enabled people more access to the Tower. Instead of the general public only allowed onto the museum, now, if they were part of a student tour, they were allowed nearly everywhere interns were allowed.

The tours could only be given to student groups of either eighteen or under. Otherwise it was decreed too risky allowing people of all ages access to half of the SI Tower levels – just in case one of them happened to be an insane scientist capable of literally shooting people into space.

Peter was perhaps a little bitter about being shot into space when everyone else got to go in a spaceship.

“…so because of this, the Government…” Mr. Harrington said government as though the school were directly contacted by them, “…decided to hold a little competition. Every student in the Junior year level would be able to go on this tour…” Peter should have paid more attention “…but in every single class the people with the highest mark will get an exclusive tour of the Stark Industries Tower, and the Avengers Compound.”

Oh god.

Oh god fucking dammit no.

I need to get off this planet.

But Mr. Harrington continued talking to the dead quiet class, oblivious to the panic Peter could feel spreading across his chest.

“Now to encourage you students to not try your hardest only for the coming weeks, the winners of this exclusive trip were officially decided yesterday.” Mr. Harrington appeared extremely smug about this, shoulders back and chest pushed out.

“In each of these yellow packets is a non-disclosure agreement form, just a temporary one until we reach the actual tour and are guided through sighing the final form – this one is just a temporary measure to stop you guys from sharing the permission forms or whatever online. This packet also holds a form you need to fill out and hand back into either me or the office before next Wednesday – this is extremely important as you will not be able to get your Stark Industries card for exiting and entering the premises. There is also a list of basic rules, and you guys should have received an email with the entire list of SI rules.”

Mr Harrington lifted the stack and passed a portion to each person sitting at the front of the classroom. They each took one and then passed on the stack to the person sitting behind them. Peter snagged his quickly.

He ripped it open – holding his breath and hoping that this was some sort of horrible prank.

And god dammit, it wasn’t.

Just like Mr. Harrington said there was a single one-sides sheet of paper that basically said don’t share any of this packet's content online where it can be copied or used – the nondisclosure agreement form was considered void on the 11 th of August, a Saturday.

The day after the SI tour was being held.

The day after the 10 th of August.

Not to mention it was also

the day

after he turned

seventeen.

The 10 th of August, when the Stark Industries tour was scheduled for Midtown’s Junior year level, the day Peter turns seventeen, and the day when nearly every single Avenger promised to come visit.

Peter and Shuri were the only two young enough to actually have a birthday worth celebrating, and because last year they had celebrated their sixteenths together on Shuri’s birthday, this year it was Peter’s turn to hold their birthday.

So, not only would the entire crew be home, whoever went to Base would be greeted by the entire family hellbent on showing off to a bunch of teenagers.

And if somehow, they figured out it was Peter’s classmates going to Base – well…maybe he could ask Gamora to take him to Nowhere for the weekend.

The bell rang dimly, and Peter slowly packed up his equipment, only getting yanked out his daze when he heard his name get called.

“Peter, Betty, Flash, Michelle can you guys please stay behind?”

The classroom emptied quickly, and Mr. Harrington gestured for the four to take their seats in front of him.

“So,” he started slowly, twitching in his spot leaning on his desk. “As you guys just heard, we actually booked this tour at the start of the year, but it wasn’t until a month ago that a new section of the Transparency Act was released. It was then announced to the Staff that there would be an exclusive tour of both the SI Tower and the Avengers Compound, but this tour was only going to be given to a select few. We couldn’t quite figure out how to get our participants, but then we decided to give a spot to each of the different subjects' highest achievers.”

Mr. Harrington beamed, and reached behind him to pull out four more yellow envelopes, three times as thick as the ones they already held.

“To Miss. Brant, for your excellent work in your English Essay, highest mark in the entire year level.” He passed her the top envelope. She took it slowly, with a shaking hand and glazed eyes. “To Miss. Jones, your piece in Art Tech called Technology and its Faults was truly breathtaking. To you, Mr. Thompson, top marks in Psychology for the poster about placebos in the form of mirrors and its uses in creating prosthetics. And to you Mr. Parker, with the highest mark in the year level for the mock Physics exam last week.”

He waited a moment for the news to sink in, still beaming that out of the twelve subjects offered to the Students of Midtown Science and Technology, four of the highest achievers were in his homeroom.

“Now I understand that this is a big shock. But please take the weekend to thoroughly read over the information in this packet. Both of these tours are being held on the same day, the tenth, but your trip is actually an overnight trip – so you’ll leave Midtown on Friday the 10 th at around seven a.m. in the morning with us, and arrive back at Midtown on Saturday around seven p.m. Okay, I’ll let you guys go, just remember to have everything sighed and handed in by Monday. The others get until Wednesday, but we teachers need time to double check everything before sending it off.”

He waved them away, and Peter didn’t wait a single moment before he barrelled out of there.

The single reason he didn’t sprint out of school and swing all the way to the Tower was because, as soon as his foot stepped past the door, Mr. Harrington called out for him to stay.

“See you later,” he muttered to MJ.

He ignored the smug look Flash aimed his way and waved to Betty. She sent him a pitying look, but he ignored it – instead tried to focus on calming his heart rate down.

Peter shuffled back into the classroom, taking a seat in the front row, waiting for Mr. Harrington as he dug through one of the desk drawers from where he sat in the swivel chair behind it.

The tic tic tic of the working clock rang loudly in his ears, and his fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to dig through his bag and pull out the Ear-Comms. His watch buzzed – the screen flashing a slight red colour on the edge of his vision.

Red – the colour of Iron Man. Nat’s hair, Wanda’s power, the Dora Milaje.

A good colour, one that told him he wasn’t in danger, but for the safety of those around him, it was best to calm down.

Too bad Mr. Harrington wasn’t paying attention.

Instead, seemingly having found whatever he was looking for, he sat upright and levelled Peter with a blank expression. He folded his hands on the top of his laptop, holding nothing.

“Now Peter, I remember being in high school. All of the pressure to be the coolest person in the school, wanting to have the best clothes, best locker spot, best seat, best job. Hell a few of the people I used to go to school with bragged about getting early internships!”

Peter sighed and suppressed a groan. He knew exactly where this was going.

Mr. Harrington continued, even though he eyed Peter critically, probably thinking that the defeated expression was confirmation of his theories.

“I understand that these past couple of years have been rough, what with the fire, and…” he trailed off, apparently realising that talking about a student’s aunt dying and then being placed into the foster care system wasn’t exactly legal without a lawyer present. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I understand the pressure to, let’s say, embellish the truth, when it comes to after school activities or perhaps even, internships.”

“Mr. Harrington-” Peter felt his heart rate pick up, and the red turned to green.

Green – the Hulk when something was threatening Bruce. Green a sickly colour, a dangerous colour.

A colour that told Peter it didn’t matter if he calmed down and his heart rate slowed – help was coming and whatever was coming would stop at nothing to keep him safe.

He held up a hand, cutting Peter off. He felt his ears burn, and he resisted the urge to sink lower in his seat. The green stopped flashing.

The compound had been notified. Someone was coming to pick him up.

If the colour had started flashing and he had been able to stop it, perhaps send a message to the compound stating that he was fine it was just a tough Physics question no one needed to come pick him up he wouldn’t have minded the blank screen of his watch.

But, with Mr. Harrington staring at him, he hadn’t dared even touch his phone.

He wondered, for half a second, if he just stayed in the classroom, would whoever was coming, come in through the door, the window, or the roof.

He was willing to bet the window.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but what with the tour happening in a month, and then you being picked as one of the special kids to go to the compound, I just thought perhaps I should warn you that if Stark Industries gets word of a student saying that he’s an intern – a high school student none the less – then it could be really bad, not only for this year level but the entire school.”

Mr. Harrington smiled gently at Peter, as though that would make a teacher basically calling a student a liar any better.

“We’re having paren- ahem, guardian teacher interviews in two weeks, and I would love for you to be there, okay. Maybe then we could talk more in depth about all of this messy business?”

Peter sat there, face slowly pinching into a look of disbelief the more Mr. Harrington spoke. Finally, when Mr. Harrington levelled him with that smug self-assured smile that all teachers wore at one point or another – that one smile that said I have won this conversation, now grovel in order to win back my good opinion – and something inside of Peter snapped.

At the same time of this snapping, he felt his skin tighten. If he didn’t get out of this talk now, someone would find them – and Mr. Harrington wouldn’t survive the warpath of the avengers who thought one of their youngest was under attack.

Especially if he was being attacked at a place, he should have felt safe.

“I’m not lying, Mr. Harrington.”

His smile fell and was replaced by a look of frustration. “Look, Peter, I understand the desire to embellish the truth-”

This time, Peter interrupted him. He needed this conversation to end. “I’m not lying, Mr. Harrington. I do have an internship at SI. You literally have the paperwork.” He spoke evenly, if biting back a touch of anger at the very end of the sentence. Or maybe it was panic.

He could never really tell.

Mr. Harrington sighed, reaching up and rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

“Okay Peter. I’ll let it slide for now. But I would still love for you to come to the interviews alright. I think it’s a good idea.”

He waved in the air, and Peter took that as his cue that he could leave. He stood up from his seat, legs shaking and head feeling heavy and drooping against his chest. His chest felt tight, like someone had clamped a vice around him.

Now he just needed to make it outside before whoever it was got to the front steps.

Just as he reached the door, hand on the handle and twisting it open, when Mr. Harrington called out, “Oh and Peter? Because of the Transparency Act, this field trip isn’t compulsory for the entire year level, but for you students who got the special tour it is. If you don’t show up, or you don’t sign every single document, you’ll be suspended for the rest of the year, as well as be facing legal action. I know that sounds scary, but I thought I should warn you before you read it. The others got the exact same warning in their packets – same as you.”

Peter was out of the door as soon as he finished speaking, racing down the empty hallways – kids outside for recess. He couldn’t hear anyone in the hallways – not a single student close enough to see him panicking.

He reached his locker in a moment, breathing heavily and with his heart pounding against his chest. His vision blurred, and vaguely he heard Karen start speaking.

“Peter, someone will pick you up outside the front steps.”

But he paid Karen no mind as he ripped open his locker, and he stuffed his textbooks into his bag – he held his breath as he did so, but it didn’t stop his shoulders from shaking.

He tapped twice on his palm with his two middle fingers, and his watch melted from the metal analogue clock into his web shooter. He shot his locker closed, before he was running again.

“Karen, how far away are they?” his voice was barely perceptible to himself, but Karen heard him fine.

“Peter, she is here already.”

Oh good, he thought distantly, breath coming easier, his vision clearing just enough for him to see a clear as he could with hypersensitive eyes. At least they had waited for him to come out, instead of barging in and destroying half of the school.

It had been threatened before. He had no doubt Drax would follow through with his threat.

Briefly, he wondered if Mr. Harrington hadn’t mentioned the fire if he would still be panicking.

The fire was a no-go zone for everyone. Even family. It was mentioned once a year – the anniversary of her funeral.

Peter slowed as he rounded the corner, going from a dead sprint to a fast walk, going down the steps and through the front doors.

He stepped past a few students sitting on the steps, ignored Flash calling his name, and focused on the beat up old ute idling in the drop off zone, and a blonde dressed in jeans and a leather jacket leaning against the passenger side door.

Peter felt the last of the pressure leave his chest, and his face softened. He didn’t realise he was smiling until Flash stepped in front of him and the smile dropped.

He sighed, heavily. “What do you want Flash?”

Flash sneered, a mockery of his fathers. “Don’t ruin this for me, Penis. Do you know who that is?” He pointed behind himself with his thumb, pointing at the not very carefully hiding Carol Danvers. Who was wearing what looked like a X-Men inspired tv-shirt, and what was definitely a SHIELD cap.

To the general Public she was Captain Marvel, capable of beating the Hulk in an arm-wrestle.

To Peter she was the person who was able to carry both him and a chocolate to the Eiffel tower so they could eat at the very top of the tower.

Peter blinked. Flash wasn’t that stupid surely.

He blinked again and rubbed at his eyes. “You mean the lady dressed like a farmer?” Of course, the same day Carol finally came back from outer space, Flash would see her and somehow think he stood a chance of impressing her.

Flash barked a laugh. “You’re kidding right. That’s Captain Marvel. One of the Avengers. She’s a hero, how do you not recognise her?”

He tilted just enough to see Carol watching the entire proceedings with a critical expression, and Peter let himself smirk, just the tiniest bit.

Carol narrowed her eyes at the smirk, before sending a dazzling smile back. Leaving her post next to the dirt covered truck, red paint chipping, she strode towards them with confident steps.

“Hello Peter,” she said behind Flash, who to his credit, paled considerably.

“Hey Cassie.” The name they decided on, for when Carol was on earth and wanted to pick Peter up from school or be in public in general.

Flash spun around, stepping back so he was standing next to Peter.

“Cassie?” he asked, voice strangled.

Peter resisted the urge to laugh, his throat jumping anyway, either with the need to sob or giggle – he was never too sure most of the time.

Carol extended her hand, and Flash stared at it, before reaching back slowly, with his own shaking hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Cassie Michaels, Peter's sister.”

Flash blinked stupidly, before rubbing at his eyes. He peered at Carol through squinted eyes before the spell that Stephen worked into their names took place.

At a first glance Flash would have seen Carol Danvers, but as soon as she got close enough to talk to him, then Flash wouldn’t recognise her as anything other than Peter’s sister.

It only took effect when Carol introduced herself as Cassie, otherwise people would think that every time Captain Marvel appeared it was a different one than last time.

The spell also worked the same for all of them. When Peter introduced himself at Peter Parks, it didn’t matter if a photo were taken of him and then compared with a photo of Peter Parker, they would be seen as completely different.

Colour returned to Flash’s face, but his sneer stayed away. Instead it was replaced by a smile. A vision of Harrison smiling flashed across Peter’s face, and he found himself resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

He heard the crinkled of paper, before he noticed that he was still holding onto both packets, the yellow creasing between his hands.

“Nice to meet you Cassie. I was talking to Peter about his internship,” he said, obviously hoping to catch Carol out and have her admit that Peter was lying.

But Carol’s expression didn’t waver. “Oh nice. He told me he doesn’t like to talk about his internship much at school, so it’s nice that someone is interested. Well as much as I loathe to drag Peter away, he actually has a dentist appointment. It was nice to meet you Flash.”

And with that, Carol slung her arm over Peter’s shoulder and pulled him over to the truck.

Once they were out of ear shot, Carol whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’ll tell you about it in a minute.”

She seemed to find that fine, because they were out of the school grounds before she asked Peter to start talking.

They pulled into the private parking just as he finished talking.

She pressed the thumbprint scanner where the key should have been, and the car turned off with a small rattle. Carol was frowning, glaring at the windscreen until Peter thought the glass would crack.

She sucked in a deep breath and relaxed her expression.

Carol turned to him, and asked him quietly, “Do you want us to do anything about this? Do you want me to do anything about this? Because everyone already knows you had a panic attack. The only reason I was able to pick you up was because I’m faster than a quinjet. But they don’t have to know the whole truth. About that teacher…” it was obvious from her tone that she longed to call him something far worse. “…or about that Flash kid. We can just tell them that you had a sensory overload.”

See, this was why Peter loved Carol.

Anyone would have been out for blood. But she had a kid too and understood that sometimes kids didn’t want help. They just wanted someone to listen.

But as much as he wanted to take the easy road out, if he didn’t mention the teacher, they would assume he was panicked about the field trip and keep him away from the compound for the entire weekend.

Besides, if he didn’t go he would probably either quit school and Tony would get him some private tutors, or he would have to redo junior year – while the first offer was somewhat appealing, he didn’t want to leave Ned or MJ.

He sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “It’s alright Carol, I tell them what actually happened.”

Peter sent her a small smile, and she sent him a calculating look, but he ignored it and the pair climbed out. The car locked when Carol pressed her thumb print against the handle, where the key would normally go, and the pair strode up to the elevator.

“Hey FRIDAY,” they both said as the doors opened and closed automatically.

“Hello Kiddo. Hello Sparkles. Capsicle wanted to let you both know, movie night…” Steve’s voice was cut off after two words and replaced by Sam’s, “…ignore him. We’ve got pizza from Base’s cafeteria, Disney plus waiting on the screen, and copious amounts of unhealthy food. We even have marshmallow fluff. Hurry up and get home.”

Next to Peter, Carol's shoulders were shaking, but Peter resisted the urge to cry.

He loved his family.

He truly, truly did, because even without asking they were prepared to sacrifice an entire day just to make sure that Peter was okay – mentally as well as physically.

Quickly, the elevator stopped at the penthouse. “I’ll take the quinjet home, and meet you there?” he asked Carol, and she nodded as her clothes blurred out before solidifying in the form of her Captain Marvel uniform.

“I prefer real clothes,” she told him, as she floated into the air. “But I have to admit, this thing is real handy.”

“I wish I had that, for like my spider suit,” Peter said as he wandered towards the small jet.

“It would be easier for when you were hungry and wanted to grab something to eat.”

“Yeah it really, really would. See you at home.”

“See you Peter.” And Carol was gone.

He climbed into the quinjet, pressed his hand to the pad, and fell backwards into his chair with a groan just as the engines roared to life and the jet took off.

As soon as the jet touched the ground he was out, leaping from his position on the ground to roof of the hub, and then from there all the way to his building. He landed on his balcony and slipped inside, stripping as soon as the sliding door closed behind him.

When he was sufficiently comfy, wearing his black trackies and poncho he stole from Clint, he went back out the door, only stopping to make sure he put his fluffy socks in his pocket, and the yellow packets of information on his desk.

He landed on the hub’s roof and slipped inside.

Waiting by the kitchen was Sam, freshly showered and only just back from a mission, Steve, and Bucky, one holding onto a tray of popcorn packets and the other arranging magnets on his arm.

Wanda was digging through the fridge, and Nat was playing on her phone, occasionally asking Wanda if they had a certain cold drink.

Conversation seemed to halt as he walked in, but only for a fraction of a second before Sam threw what looked like a container of marshmallow fluff at his he-

Whack

“What the hell man?” cried Peter as he held a palm to his temple. The fluff clattered to the floor, bouncing twice before rolling away.

But Sam was too busy crying from his position collapsed on the floor to reply to Peter’s very reasonable question.

“It isn’t funny,” Peter told him, as he unscrewed the lid and dug his fingers into the fluff.

But that only seemed to make it worse, because Sam went from audibly laughing to completely silent, with the occasional gasp for breath.

Peter sighed and shoved the large scoop into his mouth. He sucked off the sticky residue on his fingers and ignored the fluff he could feel on his cheeks.

Steve sighed, resigned, but Bucky was smiling, the magnets on his arm now spelling out idiot and sam and Disney.

Wanda, having presumably finished digging through the fridge, slung an arm over his shoulder and dragged him into the darkened lounge room.

“I was thinking of maybe that Wonder Woman movie. On Disney?”

“Oh god yes.”

“Protocol: Language activated, one dollar to the pool, Kiddo.”

“Thanks FRIDAY.”

“Your welcome.”

Apparently FRIDAY’s sarcasm detector was faulty.

Peter collapsed into his seat, the center of the giant grey bean bag resting on the floor. Wanda joined him and waved her hand. Three bags of popcorn flew over towards them, followed by a two-litre bottle of juice with the words homemade, for supes and spiders only.

It was unnaturally purple and tasted a little bit like ground up chalk, but Peter swallowed it down before Diana had even turned from being a child into the beautiful Gal Gadot.

A spoon even joined them when Peter opened the jar and reached into with four of his fingers only to scoop out half of the jar and send it plummeting towards his lap.

But luckily Wanda was to the rescue and stopped the mess from touching him. She waved her hand and the ball of fluff slipped back into the jar, and a spoon slipped into his hand.

He thanked her quietly, and in response she rested her head against her shoulder.

They were quiet for a few seconds, before he whispered, “I have this parent teacher interview in two weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“…want me to be the female guardian?”

Peter pondered this for a few seconds, before shaking his head. “No thanks, you’re a bit young.”

Wanda wasn’t offended in the slightest, just nodded in agreement. “So, who were you thinking?”

“Well,” Peter let his gaze fly over the family members gathered. “I was thinking Nat-”

“Obvious choice. Continue.”

“And maybe, I don’t know, Clint?”

“…Clint…”

Peter shrugged with his left shoulder, the other one occupied by Wanda’s head.

“Yeah I mean he’s the only one who’s actually been to one of these things.”

“Remember the last time Clint went to your school? You said they still haven’t gotten rid of all of the glitter and paint in the boy’s bathroom.”

On the screen in front of them, Diana snapped a gun across her back like an absolute babe.

“Yeah you’re right. Maybe Vision could.”

Wanda nodded, satisfied. “That’s a good idea. At least he won’t bomb the bathroom as soon as he sees someone being the slightest bit mean to you or one of your friends.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Sam asked, from his position on the edge of the couch.

“Nat and Vision are my mum and dad for the next two weeks.”

Sam nodded as though that made perfect sense, only briefly glancing at Nat to see her nodding her approval before looking back towards the screen.

It wasn’t until the movie ended, and they were cleaning up all of the mess that Nat asked him about his statement.

“I have like this parent teacher interview coming up, and because you were the one to sign all of the school’s paperwork when I moved in here,” Nat, oddly enough, had the most generic handwriting Peter had ever seen.

Pepper’s was too tight and perfect, Tony’s was too much of a scrawl, Thor mostly wrote in runes, and both Steve and Bucky had signed with their full names, so it was decided that to the general public, Peter Parker was under the guardianship of Kimberly Gill and Ambrose Gill – forms signed by Nat, Clint or Vision.

“I was wondering,” Peter continued as he lifted the couch for Wanda to wave her hand under and collect all of the stray bits of popcorn. “If you and Vision could be my parents for the evening.”

Nat was quiet for a second, and Peter glanced at her while he set the twelve-seater down.

She had a thoughtful expression on her face, an open garbage bag held tight in her fists.

Then, all of sudden her expression softened, and she nodded slowly. “I would love to, Peter.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, before his watch buzzed and he glanced at it before pulling out his phone. Shuri was calling.

He excused himself to the roof, wandering over to the floor to ceiling sliding door and slipping outside. He climbed onto the roof and jumped to his bedroom.

Making sure his windows and door were closed in order to keep the sound inside of his room, he answered the facetime.

He tossed his phone onto the bed, a hologram of Shuri appearing above him, horizontal like him as though they were both standing in front of each other on the ground.

“Hey fam.”

“Hey Shuri.”

“I think you need a therapist.”

“Oh definitely. I was gonna ask the other day, but then I just ate some marshmallow fluff out of the jar.”

“Was this before or after you guys had to get another television?”

Time in the avenger’s household was measured three ways. Movies watched, meals eaten, and TV’s replaced. They also technically had a calendar hanging on the fridge, but it didn’t count.

“Like, directly before. As in, this,” Peter held up his hand like he was praying but forgot he needed two hands for it, “is me eating fluff on the ceiling, and this,” he held up his other hand, just far enough apart to look like they were touching but were not. “This is the TV suddenly needing to be replaced.”

“Were these events related, white boy?”

“…no, Shuri. No, they were not.”

“…Liar.”

Yes.

Yes, Peter was definitely lying.

The TV was broken because eating food on the ceiling hit different than eating it on the ground, and sometimes different people came into the hub to grab some midnight snacks, and sometimes those people consisted of humans who had oddly strong arms but terrible aim and were able to throw a single apple far enough and with enough strength to knock a TV off its stand and onto the ground.

“Maybe Rhodey should get therapy,” he mused. At Shuri’s snort and gesture for him to continue he explained. “Like I was like six feet away from him. How did he miss me? The apple was freaking huge as well.”

“Did he call the apple father before throwing it at you?”

“…well not technically. But the point still stands.”

“If no, then you still need therapy. I get therapy. Next time you come over we’ll go together – she hates it when I answer her questions with nonsense, together we might actually kill her.”

“I thought you liked her.”

Shuri shrugged. “I do. But I miss you. Our birthdays in a month, too long away. Come by next weekend, I want to run these lightsabers by you.”

Oh yeah. One month until the 10 th of August.

Peter sighed.

_ I really should get therapy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if your returning to this chapter, you might have noticed that i changed the names of Peter's guardians because an absolute babe pointed it out that there was an inconsistancy, but i think???? that i fixed all of the problems???? maybe??


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter at a dangerously low 5281 
> 
> but i wanted to post something 
> 
> i kinda blacked out and then all of a sudden it was the 24th 
> 
> quaratine got me losing days left right and center
> 
> also i'm doing a poll, check end notes for details

“ _September 1_ _ st , 1989. _

_ Dear diary, _

_I believe I’m a good person, you know, I think that there’s good in everyone…_ ”

Peter yanked out his Ear-Comms as the quin-jet touched down with a sigh, _Heathers_ stopping as soon as the Ear-Comms registered he had taken them out. A beat of silence, then the music began playing softly through the speakers.

He snagged a few nuts sitting on the bar, throwing them up unto the air and catching them. He only missed one when he went to step into the elevator, and the nut caught on the low ceiling.

He finished the salty peanuts with a sigh, leaning against the wall with a groan, hoping that something would go terribly wrong before he met with Nat and Vision on his level.

Maybe a new supervillain would come around and start blowing stuff up?

He sighed again. He really should have taken up Shuri’s offer for an alien abduction. It wouldn’t have been too hard to make it plausible, especially if she came in their ship.

“Hey FRIDAY? Skip this song please?”

“ _Are we gonna have a problem?_

_You got a bone to pick?_

_You’ve come so far, why now are you pulling on my dick_?”

Peter cringed, a vision of Flash singing these exact lyrics flowing through his mind. It wasn’t like he had ever actually seen Flash sing them, but it seemed like something he would say.

It was Saturday, the last day for parent teacher interviews, and as much as Peter hoped he wouldn’t see anyone he knew; Flash had bragged about both of his parents coming on Saturday.

Apparently, they were too busy running their million-dollar company to come in during the weekday.

He had met Harrison Thompson. The only thing he was running was Netflix. Maybe a gala. He shrugged. He had no idea that Flash’s father did during the week, and he would have gladly kept it that way.

“FRIDAY can you please play _Be More Chill_? From _More than Survive_?”

“ _C-c-c c’mon, c-c-c c’mon,_

_ Go, go” _

For the first time in two weeks he felt his shoulders loosen, and the back of his neck stopped aching. Even if his life was about to be ripped apart by Mr. Harrington, he always had musicals.

The elevator doors opened, Nat and Vision standing just on the other side. Nat wore a blonde wig that flowed down to her waist with bangs cut across sharply, sitting over her eyebrows and hiding her eyes when she glanced down.

She was dressed in slick fitting jeans and a pair of light brown sandals covered in straps and little leather flowers. Over her back slung a worn looking leather jacket.

Peter was fairly sure Quill had worn it at one point, but he wasn’t quite sure.

“ _I’m waiting for my porno to load_ ”

Peter choked.

He only just caught Nat’s mouth opening slightly, as much emotion as the assassin was willing to show. Vision didn’t even move, just watching as Peter folded down, his hands braced on knees as he coughed violently.

“ _My brains gonna freakin’ explode_ ”

“Hey FRIDAY stop music,” he rasped out, still hunched over.

The silence was loud in the room. Sandals slapped loudly against the floor as Nat’s painted toenails came into view. They were black and sparkly.

“You alright Peter?” she asked as she slipped past him. Vision followed after her, his loose-fitting jeans wrinkled and his navy-blue sweater pilling around his wrists. His blonde hair was slicked back, his cheeks obscured by a beard.

At a glance they appeared to be two completely average guardians.

Peter Parker's completely normal foster parents, just like they had been for the past two years and would continue to be until he turned eighteen. Just because the school had never seen them in person didn’t mean they didn’t exist.

Even if the only time they did exist was special occasions like a parent teacher interview.

But the school didn’t need to know that.

It took until the elevators opened in the private garage, that Peter was able to straighten the entire way up, throat feeling rough.

He bolted towards the grey sedan parked beside the car Happy used to take Peter to school. He slid into the back seat, and strapped in, all before the elevator doors had even closed.

Nat slid into the car and pressed her thumb to the ignition, and the car started with a flare of dashboard lights, the only indication that the car was actually on.

Every single car in the garage looked different, some were old and looked like they were held together with hope and lots of tape, while others looked brand new. But each one was state of the art and equipped with bullet proof...well, everything, and weapons that would make Tony jealous if he hadn’t been the one to design them.

Peter helped with a few, but after his suggestion to make a Spiderman themed one that could grow extra limbs out from underneath it, so the car itself could crawl up walls, he had been banished from the project.

Shuri had promised him she would work on an idea, but since it was apparently incredibly stupid, she made no promises.

_ Jokes on them, I’ve nearly completely the model. _

“Are you excited Peter?” Vision asked, pulling Peter from his thoughts as the car slipped into the New York traffic like it had been there for forever.

Peter shrugged. “Apathetic.”

“I’ve never heard you use it before, trying to impress someone?” he asked. The car stopped at a red light. Peter stared at the pedestrians, wondering what they were thinking, and if they were also stressed about their upcoming parent teacher interviews.

Maybe not, most of them looked old.

“Shuri bet that I couldn’t say a new word at least once a day. If I do, I get her sonic things, those ones that shoot those blasts? And if I don’t, she gets my Iron Spidey Suit. Today’s word is apathetic.”

“How long does this bet intend to go on for?” The car sped along, following the flow of traffic.

“For as long as possible. Karen’s keeping track.”

Vision hummed but went back to staring intently out of the window.

“So, Peter.”

Apparently, he couldn’t catch a break today, as Nat hadn’t even waited for the traffic to smooth out before talking.

“What does Mr. Harrington want to talk to us about?”

Peter blinked. “Oh, um. Like homework, some assignments. I think he also wants to talk about the field trip, and he slightly thinks I’ve been faking the internship. So that’s fun.”

He sighed; he wouldn’t be able to get away with that comment he was sure. Better clear his schedule, far too many adults would want to talk with him about his feelings.

Nat hummed at that but didn’t say anything further. Peter looked back towards the window, only just glimpsing Nat and Vision exchanging a glance.

Two weeks ago, he had finally broken down on Sunday and told whoever would listen that he hated his life. After some prompting, he spilled about the upcoming field trip. He had only briefly mentioned the internship, but the adults had been more focused on the reason for his self-hate.

Luckily for him, Tony hadn’t immediately started planning how to embarrass him. None of them did. Instead they read and re-read every single sheet of paper he was given. Nat read over them three times, wanting to ensure she didn’t miss a single sentence.

Bucky did the same. It was an assassin thing apparently, wanting to know each and every single thing that could be hidden in the subtext or fine print.

Pepper read it six times, a habit when she was given a contract she didn’t fully trust.

Once each of them gathered could recite it word for word, and even Happy had read it over, they decided how to proceed.

Peter going to Stark Industries wasn’t out of the ordinary, and while he did somewhat want to show up everyone who didn’t believe him, he also knew that an almost seventeen year old having the same clearance as The Pepper Potts was bound to raise some questions.

The only people that worked as SI and actually knew his real age were Pepper, and Happy. The others had asked, and he had been told his answers were frustratingly vague and horrifyingly stupid and _you’re not fifteen, just – never mind, we don’t have to know_.

It wouldn’t be too suspicious if Peter missed the trip, but after Mr. Harrington chewed him out for faking his internship, they didn’t want to risk follow up questions.

His SI card, the red lined rectangle he had received only a few days prior was confiscated by Happy and destroyed. Stark Industries had a strict no-reprints policy, and if either the teachers or the students saw him with an Avengers Clearance Level card there would be far too many questions.

It was decided that he would receive a standard issue intern badge, with the quarter inch outline that should have been Iron Man red, was a cold navy blue, meaning he was allowed in the R&D labs.

FRIDAY was also informed that on the 10 th and 11 th of August, he was to be referred to as Peter B. Parker, Research and Development Intern. Now the only thing to worry about was the employees of SI.

R&D knew him as Mini-T, most other levels knew him as Mr. Parks, and most of the security knew him as Peter, that kid Happy sometimes grumbles about but if his name was said in a not respectful tone they were sure to get fired and maybe murdered.

Peter sighed. The only thing to worry about now was Mr. Harrington, Flash, the other Interns, the Security guards, Flash, the other students’ tours that for some inexplicable reason might have seen him around before and then decide to go on a tour again, Flash, his classmates.

Did he mention Flash?

He wasn’t quite sure.

With a grunt, he flung his hands over his eyes, leaning forward until his head rested against the passenger seat in front of him.

“You alright Peter?”

A muffled moan.

He didn’t have to see them to know they exchanged another glance, before turning the radio on, just enough to cut through the dead silence.

Peter was used to driving in complete silence, but today he wasn’t in the car with the Nat and Vision he knew and loved.

Right now, he was being driven to Midtown by Kimberly Gill and her husband Ambrose Gill, his foster parents that hadn’t had time to take the hour drive to his school to introduce themselves properly before.

Creating a disguise, according to Nat and Bucky, meant that for that period of time the disguise was required, you became that person.

As soon as the car had sped out of the garage, Peter became Peter B. Parker orphan. He was no longer just Peter, or Pete, or Kiddo McHackerson.

He was simply Peter, one of the smartest in his year level, and the bane of Flash’s existence.

“Nervous?”

This time he recognised Nat’s voice.

He hummed, leaning back in his seat as the car pulled into the visitors parking lot. He checked his watch. They still had twenty minutes before the interview.

It wasn’t even ten yet.

“It’s just been a long day.”

Nat parked the car and retrieved the key from the glove box, completely useless and chiselled at until it wouldn’t work with a single car in existence, but still sold the foster parent guise. It even had the Midtown logo dangling among the many random keys.

The blue atom jangled loudly against the others as Nat picked through her phone.

Black Widow, Vision, and Spiderman opened their car doors in the parking lot, and out climbed Kim, Ambrose, and Peter.

Kim held her thumb to the handle, right where the key should have slid, and the lights flashed once, the car locked and only one of the avengers could open it.

“Peter, darling, would you please take us to your classroom,” Kim said, as she slung the black mom purse over her shoulder. Peter hadn’t even noticed it before.

“And take the scenic route, we haven’t had a chance to be properly acquainted with the grounds quite yet,” Ambrose cut in with a soft smile. In front of him they interlocked hands, fingers between fingers.

Peter cringed. Ew. Maybe he should have asked Wanda to come along, even if she had more sister energy than mother energy, it would certainly be less weird watching her and Vision pretend to date.

Although, it wouldn’t be much of a pretence.

They slipped in through the visitor’s entrance, Peter quickly leading the way to his homeroom. Peter sat in between Kim and Ambrose, as they exchanged small talk over his head. He reached over to the purse sitting on the floor and dug through it.

Whoever packed it certainly knew what they were doing.

It was filled with loose change, receipts, empty wrappers, and crumbs of food. He gave a wordless crow of delight as he found the packet of gum and popped three pieces into his mouth.

Now that he was chewing gum it felt slightly less like he was waiting outside of the principles office after he and Flash had some stupid argument, that he hadn’t even participated in.

The door opened next to them, and Ambrose hopped up. For a brief second, Peter thought he wouldn’t remember to let gravity take hold, but then his feet hit the ground with a soft sound, and he held out a hand to Peter with a wry grin.

“Shall we?” he asked, his white teeth peeking past his lips and gleaming.

Kim giggled next to him and took Ambrose’s hand when Peter wouldn’t take it. He had no choice to follow them, although when he saw who came through the door, he resisted the urge bolt.

Out walked Harrison Thompson, a lady dressed in green, and Mr. Harrington.

“Oh, hey Peter,” his teacher said when he caught sight of him.

Harrison turned to him with a large smile. There was not a speck of recognition on his face, Stephens spell holding. “So, this is the elusive Peter Parker.” He stepped forward with his hand extended.

“O-oh, um…hi?” he squeaked, as his hand was vigorously shaken.

“Harrison.”

“Hi Mr. Harrison sir.”

He laughed, but didn’t correct him, apparently liking the way Peter added more respectful terms then strictly normal.

Finally, he dropped his hand, and Peter shoved them both into his pockets. He was wearing his SI jacket again; it really was incredibly comfy.

“You know,” Harrison said, after a beat of studying his face. “Flash talks about you quite a lot, you’ve made quite the impression on his studies. Rosie and I have noticed that since you two joined classes his work has really improved.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked rapidly. He glanced behind Harrison to a kindly looking woman, with smooth skin and perfect eyebrows. She wore a sleek bright green dress that slipped to just above her knees, and a set of sandals, similar to Kim’s.

On her head, she sat a set of large sunglasses. Her wavy hair hung to her waist and twisted over her arms.

Rosie stepped past Harrison and enveloped Peter in a hug. He stiffened and shot Kim and Ambrose a pleading look, but all they did was exchange a set of raised eyebrows. They had never heard of Flash, and Peter talked about Ned and MJ constantly.

There would be questions later. He was not looking forward to them.

“Thank you, Peter,” Rosie whispered into his ear, quiet enough that no one else heard her. “Flash has been working so hard these last few years, and we’re happy that he finally has a proper friend.”

Oh god.

Flash wasn’t Peter’s friend.

Peter wasn’t Flash’s friend.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Tentatively he lifted his hands around Rosie, and whispered back in a tight voice, “No problem.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and leaned backwards, with a bright gleaming smile so wide her eyes were hidden beneath the folds of her skin.

Rosie stepped back.

Harrison looked like he was about to say something, but Mr. Harrington stepped in, looking rushed.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you two here then,” he cut in, gesturing to the Thompsons. To Kim and Ambrose, he waved them inside. “Come in come in, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you both.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Rosie called back, as she and Harrison made their way back towards the visitor’s carpark.

Approaching them was a tall figure, with a smaller one just next to them.

Peter pulled his gaze away with the shake of his head. He had way too much to process, let alone actually spend time on the fact that Flash’s parents thought they were friends.

What.

The.

Fuck.

He shook his head side to side this time, dislodging the thoughts, and collapsed into the plastic chairs by the doors.

Without anything better today, and not wanting to be stuck inside of his head, he whipped out his phone. He turned it on, put in his password, swiped a few times and then closed it. He leaned his head back with a sigh and tuned into the conversation happening inside of his homeroom.

“Please have a seat,” Mr. Harrington’s voice said, followed by the sounds of scraping chairs. Papers shuffled around, throats were cleared, and then Mr. Harrington started speaking again. “Kim, Ambrose, it’s a pleasure finally meeting you.”

There was silence, and Peter could almost picture Kim smiling widely, all her teeth showing.

For a single heartbeat, he pictured Nat in there, with her short red hair, and he shuddered. When Nat smiled with all of her teeth, it was best to run as far and as fast as one possibly could.

But it wasn’t Nat in there. It was Kim. 

She sighed. “It’s good to meet you too Mr. Harrington. We apologise for not being able to make it down, but we both work very demanding jobs and each time we try to reschedule our work, something happens. Just the other day Ambrose got called in to his job at the fire department, he works in a fire department you know…”

But he was jerked out of his eavesdropping by someone asking if the seat next to him was taken.

Peter jolted in his seat, his head swinging backwards and freezing as he made eye contact with some of the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

They were a deep, deep blue, which shined against his warm brown skin, and Peter felt his mouth fall open and his eyes bug.

Standing in front of him stood a tall Adonis, with tight curls that cut close to his head. The t-shirt he was wearing stretched around his biceps, the fabric stretching as he moved his hands from his sides into his pockets.

Peter glanced down and swallowed. His jeans clung to his legs like they were made too.

His eyes shot back up to his face when the Adonis cleared his throat, and Peter realised he was waiting for him.

“What,” he said stupidly.

Adonis smiled, with his perfectly white, if slightly crooked teeth. “Is that seat taken?” He pointed towards the seat on Peters right, and he shook his head quickly.

“No,” he managed to squeak out. “Go ahead.”

Adonis bit his bottom lip, and Peter decided it was time for him to go home. Now. The car could drive itself back, and Kim and Ambrose would be fine.

He sat down, leaving the petite lady next to the last seat, right next to the door.

“My names Lucas,” he said to Peter after a moment of quiet.

“Peter,” he said back.

“What are you in for?” Lucas asked as he drew out his phone from his back pocket.

Peter giggled. He, honest to Thor, giggled. Like he was twelve.

“My, um, guardians are in my parent teacher interview.” He gestured towards the door.

Lucas’s eyes widened, and he smirked. “Mr. Harrington’s your homeroom teacher? So, you’re a junior? Very cool, my man. Same here.” He held out his hand for a high five, and Peter had no choice but to reply in kind.

The slap rang out loudly, and Lucas whistled. “Very nice high five.”

“Agreed…what are you here for? I just – I don’t think I’ve seen you around, I mean I would have noticed someone li-” Peter cut himself off with a choked sound and stared intently at the ground. His ears began to burn.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “How did you know I was a junior? I just don’t think I’ve seen you around the school, is all.”

“My mum,” he gestured to his side, to the petite women with a navy-blue hijab. “Moved us here like two weeks ago. We were just waiting for all of the paperwork to get sorted out and stuff, but we met with Mr. Harrington the other day, to get all that Field Trip stuff worked out.”

“You arrived just in time then. Otherwise you would have been stuck at school and not be able to go, and that would just suck you know?”

Lucas laughed, before he glanced down at Peter's jacket. “I like your jacket, Peter. Is it vintage? Or custom made?”

He glanced down at his jacket, his name broidered where the magnet should have gone. It was no wonder Lucas didn’t recognise it. For one he didn’t sound like he was from New York, and where his identification card should have gone his name was embroidered in gold.

Peter had witnessed Tony peel off the magnetic strip on a random jacket, its sleeves torn and bent, and then tested different colours against the fabric to see what would and wouldn’t clash.

But the only other person to know that was Pepper. The others had just thought that Peter had gotten a custom-made jacket, and he did, but Peter was especially happy about it.

Tony didn’t like hugs; he didn’t like most types of affection. But it was the small things that Peter had learned to appreciate.

Just then, as Peter opened his mouth to answer, something fell from Lucas’s phone, and Peter’s hand shot out to grab it. He went to pass it back when the words on it drew his eye.

Peter tilted his head and squinted…it was almost…hmm.

It was a Stark Industries card, but…different.

Almost perfect, the only reason it caught Peter’s eye was because he had seen them nearly every single day for almost two years. It was a touch two small, the edges squared not rounded as they should be, and the colour was too cream, not a sharp white.

And the words, they were a touch too small and the lines a touch close together.

But apart from that, the colour around the edge was the exact same navy blue as those that worked in R&D, all the information was in the correct places, and if Peter hadn’t been Spiderman he wouldn’t have thought twice about the small indiscretions.

But he was, and he noticed every single problem in the time it took him to blink.

Not wanting to start a fight, he passed it back to Lucas with a smile. Maybe it was a limited-edition card that only some people could order, and Peter had never heard of before. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

No, Peter didn’t think that was the case either.

“So, you work at SI?” he asked gently.

Lucas aimed a bright smile his way, but Peter just looked back. Didn’t feel his ears burn, didn’t hear his heart pick up speed. In fact, all desire had seeped out of his hands as soon as he caught sight of the fake card.

“Yeah, I was working in the Chicago branch, so when I moved down, they let me keep the internship.”

SI did have a building in Chicago, and they did employ more interns than the New York building. Nothing Peter could outright refute. Besides, he wanted to ask FRIDAY, and JOCATAR, the Chicago buildings AI.

She was really only there for when Pepper, or Tony visited, but she reported on everything that happened and maintained the mainframe for the entire building. She had similar Protocols as FRIDAY but didn’t talk to the employees at all.

Peter had visited once, just the other month, when he and Shuri were bored and the vents in the SI building were being worked on.

Apparently, someone, who shall remain nameless, had been crawling around them too often, and had broken a few vans and security cameras whilst wrestling with a bird who cheated during hide and seek.

During the same trip he had also visited the Head, and a few of the labs. He didn’t remember any Lucas’, and he was definitely someone Peter would have noticed.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t think they let high school students get internships.” It was true, with a single exception.

Just as the words escaped him, Peter cursed. If Lucas, for some reason, mentioned that Peter had said that, then it was simply more ammo for his classmates to use against him.

But Lucas had his cover story down pat because he didn’t bat an eyelash. “They revised that rule like a year ago.”

True.

“And now it’s like anyone over the age of eighteen.”

Also, true. Wait…

“You’re eighteen?”

Lucas glanced back towards him, dragging his eyes away from staring at the lockers. Peter noticed a few details he hadn’t before, like the slightly crooked nose, and the pimples hiding along his jawline.

It was funny really, what he could notice when he stopped being attracted to them. One of his eyes veered slightly to the left when they met eyes.

For a brief moment he felt slightly mean, but then he remembered the SI card. If someone got a hold of that and programmed it to actually work, then literally anyone could walk in. It was a safety hazard, and Peter hated it when people paid no attention to other people’s safety.

Happy was rubbing off on him.

“Yeah, I got held back a year during primary school.” He waved to the school around them. “But I more than made up for it you know? I mean I got into Midtown.”

Peter smiled, but it felt more like a baring of teeth.

He didn’t get a chance to reply because the door slammed open.

Lucas jumped, and so did his mother. Peter didn’t move, still too busy focused on the card.

Out stormed Kim with a dangerous glint in her eye, and Ambrose followed, expression stony and jaw clenched. Peter stood up on reflex, ready to be on back up. His watch started flashing red.

Mr. Harrington followed red faced and waving his hands in what appeared to be a placating fashion. “Now, now,” he said in a pleading voice. “No need to be hasty, I’m sure there has been a big misunderstanding. We can sort this out right here.”

But Kim whirled on him, blonde hair spinning around her.

Nat would have walked away calmly. In fact, Nat wouldn’t have gotten angry in the first place.

But she was also one of the smartest people he knew, and today she wasn’t Natasha Romanoff, she was Kimberly Gill and apparently Kim was a mother bear.

She spared him a brief glance, before her face morphed in a furious expression. Peter shivered. Mr. Harrington had said something bad about her cub, and he would get mauled.

“My husband and I just did try to sort it out. You have accused my son of lying about something we filed paperwork for.”

The watch flashed faster and faster, in time with his heart beat then –

He glanced down as the colour stopped flashing, the screen now a solid red colour. The only reason it didn’t turn green was because he was with Nat and Vision.

He glanced towards the raging blonde.

Kim and Ambrose, then, but close enough.

“With the correct signatures and everything.” Kim planted her right hand on her hip and waved her left around in the air. “There was important information on them, unless you can find evidence that you indeed did shred his internship documents, you will be hearing from my attorney. Expect a call later this day from SI as well, I’m sure they want the full story.”

And then she was gone in a furious twirl of blonde hair and clicky sandals.

Peter sighed. “I’ll see you on Monday, Lucas.”

He hurried after Kim, Ambrose waiting just long enough for Peter to catch up to him. Vaguely he heard, Lucas whisper underneath his breath, _SI internship…Fuck_.

Peter heard a whack, before a woman whispered furiously, “Don’t swear Lucas.”

“Shut up Linessa, I didn’t even say it that loud.”

He choked, and the only reason he didn’t spin around and tackle Lucas for talking to his mother that way was Ambrose grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him along.

Just like that every single bit of desire he could have possibly kept after he lied, drained out of his feet. With every step, Lucas disappeared from his thoughts and Flash replaced him.

The Flash he was apparently friends with.

Oh god.

Stubbornly he shoved that train of thought to the back of his mind, and instead focused on what Kim had said.

They shredded his paperwork. The colossal stack of paperwork he had read through and gotten signed by Pepper Potts, Tony Stark, and the Head of R&D, each stating that he did work specifically underneath these people.

There was the private number that went straight to Pepper’s office on those, as well as a spare phone that Tony kept with him; the number was also on the papers.

Peter sighed. It was lucky they weren’t the original set, otherwise he would have to spend another week getting everything signed.

He didn’t mention anything until they reached the car, and even then, the tension was thick in the air. No one spoke until they were the tower was insight.

“Am I expelled?” he blurted out.

Ambrose laughed, and shook his head. “Don’t worry Peter, we didn’t do anything so drastic for that to happen.”

“…you threatened to sue my school. I kinda count that as dramatic.”

Ambrose huffed, but didn’t say anything further until the car was parked.

The colour melted away from Ambrose, the pink skin replaced by green and red metal. Next to him, Kim pulled off her wig and threw it into the seat behind her.

Nat leaned her head back, before reaching up and pulling her hair loose from its flat bun. “I could have done a lot more than that, baby spider. The audacity of that man, shredding your paperwork.”

“Please don’t sue them,” he blurted out.

Nat gave him a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t leave a paper trail like that anyway. But once Happy finds out it's out of my hands. Just be glad that shredding the paperwork is a breach of security, at least he might not tell Tony.”

Vision snorted, a very human sound. “I’m surprised he’s not down here already. Your watch was flashing quite a lot.”

Peter glanced down at his watch, the screen now displaying the time and weather, just like normal. He covered the square with his hand, all thoughts of Lucas and SI cards and Flash gone from his mind. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “It was, wasn’t it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment  
> \- heart emoji for the left  
> \- laughing emoji for the right  
> \- vomiting emoji for the center  
> (thats it, thats the poll)  
> also i promise next chapter will be actual field trip start, i just wanted to have like a nice like build up, as realistic as possible if that makes any sense?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6707, sorry the wait was so long, my motivation to paint my walls and motivation to write cancled each other out so instead of doing something constructive, i slept a lot

Peter wasn’t sure what to expect when he climbed out of Steve’s car, the building looming above him. It wasn’t that tall, only just eight stories, but it seemed to fill up every inch of his view.

He stared only for a second before twisting back and leaning against the passenger side door, the window down and his head peeking through the hole left behind.

“Make sure to text me when you need to be picked up,” Steve said, his fingers tapping on the leather-bound wheel. “Can’t have my driving privileges revoked again.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal,” Peter said, the back of his neck itching. The shadows around him seemed to grow, the building a heavy presence behind him.

“No,” Steve agreed. “That would not be ideal at all.”

Peter stepped back as he waved goodbye, the 1945 navy blue Buick not exactly subtle as it sped into the never-ending traffic.

He kept his eyes on the ground as he made his way over to the wall where he leant his back against the yellow stand stone, one foot resting on the wall behind him, and the other holding him upright.

His arm gave a slight twinge when he pulled out his phone, and with a deep scowl he pulled up his sleeve, the skin pale and smooth. The bruises had faded by the time the last bell rang.

Stupid Lucas.

Stupid classmates.

Not that he could exactly blame them for believing him about his internship. Before he had spotted the SI card, if he had asked Peter to jump, he would have simply said how high?

But then he opened his mouth and lies had spewed out.

What made it the more frustrating was, someone, maybe it had been Betty, asked if he had any pictures, and Lucas had smiled that dazzling smile and whipped out his phone.

He had shown the entire homeroom photos of him standing with other interns, their badges fuzzy around the edges, but similar enough to be believable.

Peter had asked JOCATAR about Lucas, and she had sent FRIDAY multiple pictures of him around the building. The exact same pictures he had shown the class, the one supposedly on his camera roll.

It had taken Peter three minutes to find them on the Chicago buildings website, underneath the application for student tours and visitor passes.

He rubbed at his left forearm, as the day began to play behind his eyes.

_“Peter!”_

_He turned towards the voice, breaking off his conversation with Ned as Lucas ran up to him. The sea of students parted as he moved. Peter had never seen them do that before – normally elbows and knees were involved._

_“Hey Lucas,” he said slowly. Peter gestured towards Ned, and then back to Lucas. “This is Ned, Ned this is Lucas.”_

_Lucas glanced at Ned, before zeroing in on Peter. “Yeah, hey Ned. I was actually looking for you Peter, I was hoping we could talk. About homeroom?”_

_The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he felt the bottom on his spine twitch._

_No, he didn’t think Lucas wanted to talk about homeroom either, but he couldn’t very well refuse to talk. Lucas would want a reason why and saying that his butt was itchy didn’t sound very convincing._

_He didn’t really know why he agreed, but according to Parker Luck™ something must go wrong at least once a week. Last Monday he forgot to pack all of his textbooks he had brought home, and apparently this week it was Lucas’ never-ending presence._

_The first time had been when Peter wandered into the homeroom, and he had stopped short at seeing his and MJ’s regular seats taken over by Lucas and his newly acquired Fanclub._

_They had only moved when MJ had barged through the crowd, kicking out the person from her seat with a blank stare, and then kicking out Lucas with a mild glare._

_But he hadn’t moved until he raked his eyes up and down like she was a piece of meat._

_When he had done that to Peter, it was attractive._

_Now, Peter wanted to deck him._

_As he was dragged behind Lucas, following him into the disabled bathroom, he felt he should have hit him earlier. Maybe then he wouldn’t be stuck inside of a bathroom._

_Peter was facing away from Lucas when the locked_ snapped _shut. He froze, before slowly twisting around to face him._

_They stared at each other, Lucas’s face blank, while Peter felt himself blink rapidly. Then the silence became too loud, and he said slowly, “So…”_

_“So-” Lucas cleared his throat. “So, I heard the other day that you also have a Stark Industries Internship?”_

_Peter rubbed his shoulder with his hand. “Um, y-yeah, I do.”_

_Lucas nodded slowly, as though this wasn’t news, he just wanted to confirm his own knowledge. Then he gave a brittle smile. “That’s awesome that we work together you know. Like at SI.”_

_It took Peter three blinks to realise three separate things, all equally important._

_Blink one._

_Lucas either didn’t think his internship was fake, or he was hoping to catch Peter off guard about it._

_Blink two._

_Lucas was actually faking his internship and was trying to save face, maybe by pretending that they both worked there thinking that Peter would have no way of confirming or denying it._

_Blink three._

_Lucas wanted them to pretend that they worked together, so that no one would be suspicious of him._

_And it took another half blink for his mouth to open and blurt out, “I know you don’t have an internship.” Oh god, he really needed to think before he spoke. He resisted the urge to slap a hand to his forehead. “What I mean is, I asked around Chicago, and they said…you…don’t,” he trailed off, realising far too late that an intern wouldn’t be able to just ask around the Chicago building._

_Lucas blinked a few times in rapid succession, his mouth ajar just enough for Peter to see his teeth. “You asked around Chicago?_

_Peter shrugged with one shoulder. “I mean, yeah, I guess. I didn’t really ask, just like, emailed a few people over there – like a few interns I met a couple of times.”_

_He hadn’t done that at all, unless JOCATAR was counted as a person, and calling that building's AI counted as emailing, then he supposed it wasn’t really lying._

_“You’ve_ been _to Chicago?”_

_Lucas seemed to be focusing on the wrong thing here._

_“How old are you?” he blurted out suddenly, apparently having moved on from the Chicago business._

_Peter blinked, not expecting the question. “I’m turning seventeen in like,” he glanced at his watch. “I don’t know, technically two or so week’s, but emotionally in a couple of years. I’m not really ready to grow up.”_

_Lucas didn’t even twitch as his ramblings. Instead his eyes brightened, and his mouth stretched into a wide smile. “So, you’re still a kid.”_

_“Teenager.”_

_He continued as though Peter hadn’t spoken. “So, you can’t have a Stark Internship. You literally said the other day that they have an age limit.”_

_Peter froze. He knew that was going to come back to bite him. But he didn’t let any emotion show on his face. Instead he did what he did best._

_He talked._

_“This again?” He threw his hands into the air, glancing around the bathroom as though someone else was watching with the same exasperation and slight panic he was feeling. “Did you not hear mama talk about suing the school because they shredded the paperwork? Did I dream of that happening?”_

_Again, Lucas ignored him. “I googled you. There was this giant article about the fire and your aunt, and how you were placed in the foster care system. But because the fire was related to some gang shit or whatever, you can’t leave the state. I only got the internship-”_

_“You don’t have an internship.”_

_“-a few months ago. You can’t have visited. You’re lying.”_

_Peter’s watch began to flash. It wasn’t beeping quite yet. It only did that when he was in a safe place where he shouldn’t have a reason for all of his senses to go haywire._

_He had programmed it to ignore all bathrooms after one to many incidents of getting some less than ideal news and then having to explain to far too many people why bathrooms were so triggering._

_So instead the watch flashed, letting Peter, and only him, know that he was beginning to panic._

_He sucked in a deep breath, and twisted his face into his best interpretation of Loki – blank with a slight curve to his mouth and the corners of his eyes pinched just enough for him to seem like he was harbouring knowledge that no-one knew._

Just like no-one knew you’re not supposed to leave the state, _a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shoved it to the side, but the damage was done, his façade cracked. He continued anyway._

_“I’m not lying, Lucas. You are, I did some digging, you aren’t even registered as a regular visitor.”_

_People that visited the towers regularly for tours or if they were a part of the testing teams, joined the database so FRIDAY, or whichever AI it was, wouldn’t get suspicious about why they were visiting so much.”_

_Peter continued, Lucas’ expression growing darker the more he talked. “Those photos you were waving around during homeroom? I found them too. On the Chicago’s towers website, just above the application for guided tours.”_

_Across from him, Luca’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. At his sides, his hands fisted._

_“Yeah well, I did some digging of my own. I know you don’t enter the building. Ever. The cameras across the road work really, really well. They even have facial recognition. And they registered your face,_ twice.” _He held up two fingers, before pointing it at Peter and taking a looming step forward. “And never again. I don’t know what happened – why it never registered you leaving. I don’t really care.” He shrugged, before taking a few more steps, slowly taking up Peter’s view._

 _He took a few steps backwards, Lucas matching him step for step, until the back of his head met the wall with a_ crack.

_Peter held up one hand to fend him off, and Lucas snatched his forearm from the air and held it to the side._

_“Ow! Shit dude that_ hurts _!”_

_“But I know you’re lying, and I don’t fucking know how, but you know I’m lying too. I’m not dumb. We could have co-existed, you know, not telling anyone what we know.”_

_He bent closer; cheek pressed against cheek as Lucas whispered into his ear._

_“But you just couldn’t take a fucking hint, could you. Everyone knows you’re lying. Everyone thinks I’m telling the truth. At least I have a fucking good cover story, and when we go on that fucking field trip, I’m not the one who isn’t going to be recognised even though you’ve been working there for two fucking years. As far as anyone knows, I haven’t worked a day there yet, still getting used to this fucking city.”_

_The more Lucas spoke, the more Peter’s fingers numbed, the tips tingling, and his palm burning. He bit his tongue, not letting the whimpers of pain escape._

_Lucas sucked in a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it loose, his shoulders dropping and his smile turning easy. He leant back, releasing his arm, and using the same hand to slap his shoulder. “Good talk man. I’m glad we could see eye to eye, Peter. See you later.”_

Pain shot through his shoulder as the memories replayed behind his eyes.

As much as he wanted to completely dislike him, a small part of him acknowledged that he must be crazy smart. He had asked FRIDAY to hack the cameras from the building across the road, during his lunch break, and she had sent him diagnostics about their firewalls and security measures.

It wouldn’t have been easy to hack for anyone, let alone a high school student.

“Hey, Peter,” a voice asked to his right.

His head shot upright, and he straightened off the wall before he realised he had moved. It was then he remembered why exactly he had asked Steve to drop him off in front of the sandstone building.

“Hey Flash,” he said back after a moment’s hesitation.

_Peter waited until the hallway was quiet before he left the bathroom, his hands shaking as he shoved them into his pockets._

_He grit his teeth, staring at the ground, eyebrow twitching. He lifted a hand to stop it and stopped short when a pair of shoes came into his field of view._

_Slowly, he dragged his eyes up the black skinny jeans and dark brown polo covered in small white dots, the collar popped._

_Peter stopped at the dark brown eyes and gaped; hand pressed to his eyebrow. He was using his right hand, his left still aching._

_Before he could even ask Flash what he was doing, he spoke. “Look don’t make this awkward.”_

_“…huh?”_

_“Listen I don’t want to do this, but my mums insisting that I invite you over for dinner, or like the afternoon. Now that they know you’re not a figment of my imagination, they’re determined to get to know you.”_

_“What’s happening?” Peter glanced around as though someone else could tell him, but the hallway was devoid of people._

_“I don’t know why, but it didn’t matter what I said, they said that I had to convince you and then mum started planning her entire day around you coming over – she even rescheduled her dentist appointment.”_

_“Okay, Flash, hold on.”_

_Flash shut his mouth with an audible_ click.

_“Start from the start. You’re not making any sense. Like, at all…I’m so confused.”_

_Flash let loose a long-suffering sigh. Then he said slowly, as though he was talking to a child, “My parents want you to come over. I’ll text you the address. We eat a late lunch together around four, and then actual dinner around nine. Don’t make this awkward. Don’t tell anyone, especially Ned or Michelle.”_

_“…Flash why would I go to your house? We are not friends. This is the most we have talked without you insulting me in...literally forever. Why do your parents think we’re friends?”_

_Flash gave another sigh, his entire upper body moving with the grief-stricken sound. For a moment Peter was offended, but then he brushed it off, more confused as to why he found it offensive than anything else._

_“Look, I don’t know why. Maybe I sleep talk and complain about you. But they said they wouldn’t bother me for an entire month about attending their work functions, so come over, okay? My mum’s gonna be really sad if you don’t show.”_

_This time, it was Peter sighing. He really didn’t want to upset Rosie. “Fine.”_

_Then Flash was gone, and with him the last of Peter’s hope that today would have been a good day._

Flash led him not his house with a wave of his hand. “I see you didn’t get lost.” He punched in a pin code, pushing the front door open and holding it for Peter.

“I’ve got a good GPS.”

FRIDAY would be very disappointed in him for calling her _good_ and not _spectacular_ or _wonderful._

He stepped past Flash and gasped, stopping short.

Elegant was the only word that came to mind. The door opened to a dark wooden floor, with navy blue walls and golden accents. Directly in front of him was a round table with a golden vase and white flowers – Peter thought perhaps they were lilies.

Behind the table was a staircase that split into two, both limbs twisting away in opposite directions.

He heard the door close behind him before Flash was leading him past the open archways that lined the wide hallway.

He waved a hand distractedly. “You can have the tour later. It's nearly four, so I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and leave you to freshen up.”

From Flash’s blank expression, Peter gathered it was safer to simply follow his directions rather than fight them. It was also only just half past three. But he felt it was better not to point out that there was half an hour until they ate, and he could probably get the tour now.

Peter followed him in silence, keeping one eye on the back of Flash’s head, and the other on the walls. They were lined with colourful paintings; splashes of bright colour mixed and muddled until they became a mess of beauty.

They stood out against the navy-blue walls, but not a single one clashed. Whoever picked them out certainly knew what they were doing.

Only three truly stood out to Peter though, the blending not as seamless and the colours jarring against the walls.

They seemed to be blended in a circle, the colours spiralling inwards, spinning towards a faceless shadow made of darker colour. There were three in total; one with shades of pink, one with shades of brown, and one with shades of yellow.

Each painting was the same size. He guessed they would have been as long as his upper body, from his hips to his head, and just shy of his wingspan.

He only dragged his eyes away from them when Flash turned the corner, stopped short, and shoved open the door directly to his left.

He spun, and Peter stepped back slightly, realising a little too late that he was much to close.

Flash gestured to what was now his right. “You can use this room for now. I’ll come get you when it’s time for lunch.”

And then he was gone without giving Peter a chance to reply. He watched as he stalked a few doors away before Flash barrelled into a door on his left, his shoulders somehow stiffer than they were before.

Peter shrugged, before sucking in a deep breath. He held it for five seconds before letting it go slowly and carefully stepping through the door frame.

When nothing jumped out from behind the door or fell into his head from the ceiling, he closed the door. It was silent, not a single creak. Absently he noted that the only creak he had heard since he entered the building was the step second from the bottom on the staircase.

Then all thoughts of creaky floors were shoved out his mind when he focused on the room. His mouth fell open, and immediately felt his stomach tighten – the guilt threatening to buckle his knees.

Of course, he wouldn’t take off his shoes when stepping onto a white fluffy rug. He tried telling the guilt he didn’t notice the rug was white, but it ignored him. If anything, he felt worse.

He moaned, before taking a long step to the side where the rug ended. He focused his gaze away from the rug and glared at the perfect room around him.

His feet were covered in dirt and grime, he felt sweaty and gross, and he knew his hair needed to be washed. He glanced into his mirror and cringed. He looked tired and oily and gross.

And of course, Flash, being the lovely person that he is, would put him into the room where the only colour was on the navy-blue walls and hardwood floor. Everything else was either a stark white, almost hurting his eyes with its intensity, or a warm gold.

It was beautiful.

Peter felt inadequate.

But that was no different than normal, so he did his best to shrug off the guilt and shuffled around the edge of the rug to the open door. Peeking through the door frame was what looked like a large bath.

Finally sliding in, he closed the door – still careful but now more out of respect to the beautiful room than fear of being pranked.

The first thing he did was shove off his shoes, kicking them away with a scowl, and digging out his phone from his pocket.

He smiled when he saw the text waiting.

_I don’t think it counts as a date if he hurts you_

_But what would I know?_

Peter almost regretted telling Shuri what Lucas had done, but like always she made the entire situation almost funny.

He quickly shot back a text as he dug through the drawers, crowing with delight as he yanked out what seemed to be a basket full of toiletries, hidden underneath the sink.

_I never said it was a date, Shuri_

_Sometimes I worry how your brain works._

_I literally said nothing, and yet you somehow went on a tangent about first dates_

He dumped the light brown woven basket onto the bench, cringing when he realised just how expensive every single item looked.

His phone dinged multiple times before he dragged his gaze away from the facewash and miniature shampoo bottles.

_You_

_Are_

_Just_

_JELOUS_

_That my mind sees connections you could only hope to see_

_*Jealous_

_I swear I will throw hands with you_

_I don’t care who sees_

_Where are you????_

_Its time for a fight????_

_…that wasn’t supposed to be a question._

_…I haven’t slept in two days_

_What. The. Heck._

_Why haven’t you slept?????_

Sometimes he truly worried for his friend.

But maybe he should focus more on himself and his greasy, _greasy_ hair. The shampoo was beginning to look far too tempting.

_Sleep is for the weak and unless Bast herself comesdown and orders me to sleep, nothing will force me to rest. I’ve nearly finished this thing_

_What is it_

_??_

_I can’t remember what they’re called, but when I remember I’ll text you_

Peter rolled his eyes, chuffing as he dumped his phone down next to the spilled miniature bottles – each one a soft pink.

Realising he hadn’t even taken off his backpack, he slipped it off his shoulders and dumped it down next to him. He cracked his neck before focusing on his reflection.

He squinted, tilting his head to the side. Either his camera was lying to him, and he didn’t actually look as bad as he thought he had, or the mirror was the one doing the lying and he truly looked like shit. 

“Oh god,” he muttered underneath his breath. “I’m losing it. I should sleep more.”

His phone dinged and he opened it without dragging his eyes away from the mirror. He only looked down when it buzzed.

Clicking on the text notification, he felt his face screw into disbelief.

_“Protocol: Language has been activated. Another dollar to the pool, Peter_

Not giving himself enough time to actually think about what was happening he hastily tapped his fingers on his phone screen.

_Karen…?_

_How long have you been able to text me?_

_How did you hear that???_

_More importantly, why didn’t you just start talking????_

_I have always been able to text you._

_You’re not that far away._

_Cameras were located in the hallway, window is open and cameras have been located outside._

_I deemed it too much of a risk to talk out loud, but if this is making you uncomfortable then other arrangements can be made._

Karen didn’t give him a chance to stop her before his phone was ringing, Karen’s name large on his screen. He sighed as he lifted it up to his ear.

“Is this better?” she asked, sounding like she truly wanted to know his opinion.

Peter couldn’t even find it himself to be mad, but then he remembered the very reason she had texted him.

“What’s this about you also having the Language…” vaguely he remembered the camera warnings and floundered for a moment, before settling on an almost incoherent mumble.

Karen seemed to understand him anyway, for which he was thankful for a total of one- and three-quarter seconds. “FRIDAY added the Protocol when she noticed you were swearing during a few missions. It has been tweaked to not be in effect when you’re in your safe zones.”

“I thought we were friends?” he asked after a moment, in a last-ditch effort to get her to remove the Protocol.

But apparently, she and FRIDAY had been talking because she said in a calm voice, not quite hiding the teasing lilt. “We are friends, Peter.”

Great, the AI’s were learning from each other.

He grumbled a goodbye, before cueing up some music.

The lilting classical music filled the bathroom, swelling in the large space and echoing around him, and with the noise now drowning out the silence, he was able to focus on freshening up.

He lifted his arm and sniffed, but he had only had a shower that morning so it was of no surprise to him that he smelt nothing, his deodorant specially designed to mask all odours – even odours that super soldiers would have been able to smell.

Every single person that lived at Home in any sort of capacity were supplied with copious amounts of the paste, something that Peter had never complained about.

His hair was a different story.

While he did shower every day, he only washed his hair every three to four days, and it just so happened that this week he had been in so much of a rush that he hadn’t had time to wash the brown locks.

So, he was stuck with greasy hair. His eyes strayed down to the shampoo, then to the large bathtub and shower combo. He tapped on his phone, the time appearing for a few seconds before fading to black.

Today had already sucked far more than he hoped it would.

His hair seemed to be making every single thing worse.

He had a little under half an hour until four.

Peter took three steps towards the bathtub when the image of Sofia and Harrison being uncomfortable with the idea that he took a shower speared through his skull and sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

Feeling jittery he shot towards the sink and settled with scrubbing his face down with the facewash. With only a second of hesitation, he slathered on the moisturiser and rubbed it in. It burned only slightly, so he decided it was probably fine.

He peered back at his reflection. His skin looked brighter, and his eyes seemed to not be as dull. But his fucking _hair…_

It hung over his head like a cloud of grease.

Normally it wouldn’t have been such a big deal.

But it seemed that every single thing in Flash’s house was made with the intention to both be incredibly aesthetic and at the same time make Peter feel inadequate.

He scowled, deciding as he grabbed a jar labelled _hair gel_ that if he couldn’t have nice clean hair, he would at least make it seem purposeful.

Peter jumped when a knock sounded on his door, and he hastily tugged on his shoes before stumbling over his backpack. He wiped the extra hair gel onto his thighs and glanced once more in the mirror.

His hair was smoothed back over his head, now looking purposely dark. Nodding satisfied, he flung open the door, unsurprised to see Flash. What did surprise him was Rosie standing just behind him, her smiling blinding in its intensity.

“H-hey,” he blurted out as soon as he opened the door.

Flash’s shoulders slumped and he stepped to the side. Rosie stepped forward, placing one hand on either of his shoulders.

“I’m so happy you could make it, Peter. I can’t tell you how many times we have urged Eugene to bring him friends over for the afternoon. Have you gotten the house tour yet?”

He shook his head. Rosie’s smiled dimmed, and she glanced at Flash once before saying something in a language Peter didn’t know. Flash’s eyes grew wide, and he threw one of his hands to the side, saying something back in the same language.

If he had to guess, he would have said it was Hindi.

Before he even had a chance to guess what they were saying, Rosie turned back to Peter, her smile once again bright.

“Eugene is happy to give you the tour. Our house is not too large, I have faith that you will be done before four. Now please excuse me, I am going to freshen up.”

Rosie left before Peter had a chance to do anything other than stutter a quiet _thanks._

She closed the door carefully, leaving Flash and Peter alone.

He watched the door close, but the latch must have failed as the door bounced off the frame, stopping halfway open.

Flash sighed, and gestured for him to follow. 

They made it to the front entrance before either of them spoke.

“So-” Peter began.

“Stop,” Flash said with a wave of his arms. “This is going to be less painful for both of us if you just listen.”

Peter never just listened in situations he was uncomfortable in, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. “Why would it be painful if we both talked. As the kids say, it’s a conversation, a normal part of life.”

Flash turned to him, face scrunched and head tilted slightly to the side.

Peter’s brain had the audacity to think his nose looked cute.

_Stupid brain. Leave me alone._

He was cut off from scolding his traitorous mind by Flash. “What did you just say?”

Peter blinked. “The conversation part? It’s a thing people do when they want to talk to each other. I think it was invented in 1768.”

Flash’s nose scrunched further, his entire being screaming that he thought this was the stupidest conversation he had ever been a part off. “No, _idiot,_ obviously I meant the part where you said, _as the kids say.”_

“Ooh, _that_ part. Well, I mean, have you ever not heard a kid say that?” Peter planted his hands on his hips. He had picked his topic and would stick to it – even if he were murdered by Flash along the way.

Understanding seemed to dawn on Flash, his face smoothing into a wide-eyed expression. “This is why Michelle hangs out with you.” He punched his palm with his fist. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m an- _what?”_

“I thought she was losing it. Because it went from like hating everyone to hanging out with Ned, and you. But I’ve seen her test scores. Every time you open your mouth it’s like my brain stops stressing about life and just zones out, so it must be the same for her.”

“ _Hey,”_ Peter shouted, waving his arms in the air above his head. “First of all, me, Ned, and MJ are friends, nothing more too it. She doesn’t use me to help her shut off her brain. Second of all, you didn’t answer the question.”

Peter decided to ignore the third question burning a whole through his mind. There was not a chance in hell he was asking Flash what he meant when he said Peter helped him stop stressing.

Flash was back to staring at him with that cute scrunched nose. “What. Question?”

“You know,” Peter shrugged. “The one about the kids. And if you’ve ever not heard them say that.”

Flash slumped, his shoulders falling, his head tipping forward. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand. “No,” he said finally. “I haven’t ever _not_ heard a kid say that a conversation is a normal part of life.”

Peter beamed; hands once again planted on his hips. “See, was that so hard to admit. Now I heard there was something going on about a tour.”

Flash’s shoulders seemed to fall further, but that only lasted for a moment before they rolled back, his chin held high.

“This is the start of my house,” he said with a flourish of his hand. Then he paused, and Peter waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, Flash opened his mouth. “I don’t really know where to go from here. I haven’t given someone a tour before. My parents usually do that. I normally hide in my room.”

Peter hid his smile behind his hand. It seemed that Peter’s nonsense had officially broken Flash. He was acting like they actually friends.

Just like his parents though they were.

He shoved those thoughts away and blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. “Show me your house then.”

Flash stared at him, once again as though he were the stupidest person alive. “I am.”

Peter shook his head vigorously. “No, I mean – ugh, I’m terribly at explaining.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I need to get more sleep.”

“Probably, you’re bags need a valet.”

“And my hairs greasy, but this hair gel is nice, so I guess it’s not that bad.” Peter tugged at a strand that flopped over his eyes. It seemed to be the single part of his hair that didn’t want to stay stuck to the gel.

“ _Peter.”_

He stopped tugging at his hair, and met eyes with Flash, who was staring at him with a blank expression.

Now that Peter was paying attention, Flash gestured for him to elaborate on what he meant.

“You know when you go away for the weekend, or like a week or two on a holiday or something,” he waited for Flash to nod before he continued. “And you like get home and all you want to do is collapse and sleep for like fifty years.” Peter had limited experience going on holiday and not fighting multiple people every day. Although, his holidays often involved less relaxing by a beach and more fighting terrorists.

Flash seemed less certain when he mentioned the sleep for fifty years, but he nodded anyway.

“So, then you like walk into your house and notice all off the things you missed when you were away. Give me that tour. Show me your home the way you see it.”

It was quiet for a beat, and Peter heard his heart rate begin to pick up.

 _Oh god_ , whispered the cold pit sitting at the bottom of his stomach. _Was that…flirting? OH MY GOD._

But oblivious to the existential crisis now swirling around Peter’s mind, Flash nodded slowly and wandered straight back towards the door.

Peter followed, now feeling vastly less sure of himself than he did five minutes ago. It seemed that blacking out and rambling was not always the best course of action.

Heedless, Flash began to point out thing on the door. Peter couldn’t help but listen, even with his heart pounding a tattoo onto his chest and his fingers twitching.

Gently, Flash pressed his fingers against a scuff mark just below the door handle. “When I was little, I was riding around on this tricycle thing, and ran straight into the door. I tried to stop it with my feet before I hit the door, but the peddles, like, caught on my ankles and I shot forward and wacked my forehead.” He smiled ruefully and turned to Peter. “When they redid all of the walls and stuff, they got the door repainted, but made sure that the guy who did it, didn’t buff out the scuff mark.”

Peter floundered for something to say, but the option was taken from him when Flash started walking towards the stairs. He stopped on the step second from the bottom, tapped it twice with his foot.

“This is where my dad made me sit when I got in trouble. Mum made me sit here too, but only after a few smacks.”

Slowly they moved up through the house. Flash pointed out small marks that Peter hadn’t noticed on the way up.

They stopped by the pink painting. Peter stared at it, tilting his head, and squinting his eyes. If he concentrated enough the shadow of slightly darker pink seemed to be drawn like it was…

“…a women,” Peter said. Once he said it out loud, he realised that’s exactly what it was. He took a step closer, the shadow seemingly twisting in front of his eyes into the side profile of a women.

“My mum,” Flash said quietly.

Peter’s head shot towards him, but he didn’t say anything.

Flash continued. “She painted all of the paintings in the house, but these three are special. Its why they’re in the hall, so we can all see them every time we walk past them.”

“What do that- um, I mean, why are they so special?” he asked when it seemed as though Flash wasn’t going to continue.

He didn’t take offense to Peter asking. It was almost like he didn’t even notice it was Peter asking. It seemed to Peter that while these paintings were important to Flash, he had no personal stakes in the actual artwork.

“I’m my parents only kid, but after I was born my parents tried a few more times to have another kid. They couldn’t.” He smiled again, meeting Peter’s eye. This time it was sad, tired. Lonely. “I think you’re a bad influence. Normally I don’t talk this much.”

Peter didn’t say anything. He simply turned back towards the painting. He took and step back and let his eyes blur – just for a second before he concentrated again. Now that he knew the story the painting no longer looked rough and poorly blended.

It looked like it was grieving, the lines of paint crying as they spiralled down towards the should have been mother.

He glanced towards the other paintings, the other two grief-stricken works sticking out without even trying.

Three paintings.

Peter did not let his mind connect the dots. He stepped back and asked Flash to continue.

“Nah,” Flash waved him off. “That’s all I really notice. All of the other rooms are either guest rooms, or like the laundry. Want to play a game? I have a Wii.”

Peter smiled, grateful for the reprieve. “I expected something less old school from someone called Flash.”

He laughed, and Peter felt his smile freeze on his face. “Yeah I suppose Flash is a very modern name. But I love Mario Kart.”

Peter forced himself to response, ignoring the pit in his stomach that was beginning to feel vastly more like butterflies. “I would die to Mario Kart.”

He saw Flash glance at him with an easy smile. “As the kids say, I would also die for Mario Kart.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

He pushed down whatever butterflies that seemed to want to invade his stomach, and he ignored them through lunch where Rosie explained that both her and Harrison work such long days that it was nice to spent two meals as a family instead of simply one.

He ignored the butterflies when Harrison mentioned that Flash had been mentioning Peter for weeks whenever he was asked about school, and he ignored them when he realised that while the Harrison that had met Mr. Parks was a douche, this Harrison seemed genuinely lovely and grateful for his family.

And he ignored them when he said his goodbyes, but not before he promised that he would come over again soon.

But it seemed that his hours of repression meant nothing when, as Flash closed the door behind Peter, he heard him mutter to his parents something that sent him running.

He ran past the gate, slowly only long enough to make sure it shut, before he sped away, running as fast as he possibly could without raising suspicion. His backpack thumped against his back in tune with his footsteps.

Chest heaving, he finally slowed down, hands pressed to his knees.

Flash’s voice shot through his mind, and choking he pulled out his phone and called one of the only people who would truly understand the significance of what he was about to say.

“ _Hello?”_ Ned asked, sounding confused.

 _I can’t believe I used to have a crush on him,_ Flash’s voice whispered in his mind.

“I THINK I HAVE A CRUSH ON FLASH,” he bellowed into his phone, the New Yorkers around him not even flinching.

“… _what?”_

Peter groaned.

He was wondering the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the ending seems a tad bit rushed, it was  
> i wrote the last 2000 words in between 12am and 1am
> 
> Also comments pay my rent and clean my room  
> So please help me pay rent  
> Much abliged? Abloghed? Ablighed?  
> I hate spelling


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8573 give a take a comma   
> i am so sorry   
> i would blame god but my lack of self control is closer   
> this is for all those that paid my rent, especially @GayFairyRoyalty

Peter woke to buzzing.

He ignored it in favour of reaching over for his second pillow and smashing it down on his head with a groan. The thick mess of cotton and feathers did nothing to stop the light slowly creeping in as FRI brightened the room.

He threw the pillow away with a snarl, glaring at the pitch-black world that waited behind the raised curtains and opened windows. A breeze blew across his shoulders, and goosebumps rippled down his spine.

“FRIDAY,” he muttered. When she didn’t reply he said it a touch louder.

“Yes, Peter?” she asked, sounding far too awake for ass o’clock. Internally he shrugged. She was literally a robot. 

He huffed. “So, it’s Peter today then?”

“The Boss said the 10 th and 11 th of August you are to be called Peter, Peter Parker, and Peter B. Parker…” Here she started talking in Tony’s voice, “… _ No nicknames, no fun stuff, and definitely not Kiddo McHackerson.” _

“So, does that mean I don’t have to go to school today? Because I remember making plans for Kiddo to go to school. Now I personally,” he held a hand to his chest, right above his heart as though he were speaking of things deeply personal to himself. “Think that since Kiddo isn’t here to enjoy his plans, there is no reason for me to go to school. Let alone  _ get out of bed  _ at…” He sat upright and turned towards his phone where it lay face down on his bedside table. Maybe if he glared enough at it, it would flip over and announce the time.

After a moment of silence, FRIDAY supplied, “Five thirty.”

He snapped his fingers into a fist and shook it in the air. “ _ Exactly.  _ What sort of  _ sick monster  _ makes me,  _ a child,  _ get out of bed after only…seven?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Yes, seven-”

“And a half.”

Peter sighed. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Of course, continue. My apologies for interrupting.” She did not sound sorry in the slightest.

He huffed, rolled his shoulders back, cracked his neck, and continued after shaking his head. “Okay so – after seven  _ and a half  _ hours of sleep, only the sickest and inhuman monster, would ever make me, a  _ child,  _ get out of bed this early-”

“You already made that point.”

With a groan, Peter fell backwards, bouncing twice before he pulled the blanket over his head, rolled over onto his stomach, and snuggled into his pillow.

“Peter, my programming states that today if you are not at the hub by six all avengers in Home will be notified that you are still in bed and are to act accordingly.”

Peter waited three seconds before he was out of bed, and by the time another three had passed the shower was on, and he was scrubbing at his hair.

He heard his phone buzz once more three minutes later when he climbed out of the shower. He sighed through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat, rinsed his brushed, stared at his wet hair flopping over his head, sighed once more because he was officially seventeen – oh Thor  _ why – _ spun and began to sort through his wardrobe mentally.

“I can’t wear anything I wear to work,” he mused, hands on his hips as he stared at his walk-in wardrobe. “Which means I can’t wear anything I wear to school.”

“My records state that everything you own has been worn to both the Tower, and Midtown, at least once.”

“Thanks FRI. Any suggestions?”

Birthdays usually marked important milestones in the stages of life. Turning five meant starting school. Turning eighteen meant, for most, the end of high school, and the start of college. Turning twenty-one meant the legal drinking age.

For Peter, turning seventeen marked the first, and perhaps the last, time he asked FRIDAY for fashion advice.

Naturally, she provided. “The navy-blue corduroy pants with matching blue flannel button up…”

“Okay, solid start.”

“…black suit tie with small blue bells embroidered, the golden chains that hang off your shoulders…”

That was from a Halloween outfit last year.

“…pearl earrings and matching necklace, with your SI jacket.”

FRIDAY could disable the entirety of the modern world’s internet, derail governments, provide blackmail material on every single member of high society and on occasion order a smoothie on Postmates – yet she could not put together a cohesive outfit.

“Um, on second thought I might choose my own clothes FRI…just for my own curiosity, how did you decide the clothes?”

“Colour matching.”

He nodded as though it made perfect sense. “And the pearl earrings?”

“Halloween, first year at the compound. You dressed as Shuri, and Shuri dressed as you.”

At that he raised both of his eyebrows, squished down as they were as he shrugged on a short sleeve t-shirt. “Just  _ Shuri  _ today, huh?”

“Yes,” she said as though yesterday she hadn’t told him  _ Mmm Watcha Say _ was calling and asked if he would like to answer.

He guessed it made sense. If he were to be called Peter for the next two days, then everyone else should be called the same.

Okay, it didn’t make that much sense, but how was he to know what went on in the minds of the smartest people in the world?

He finished jumping into his black skinny jeans and slipped on a pair of black socks. He snagged his phone before shuffling into his bathroom.

Flinching, he glared down at the water slowly seeping into his sock.

“This is going to be the worst day ever,” he muttered underneath his breath, before popping a few mints, and changing his socks.

They hit the basket with a wet  _ plop.  _ At the same time his phone began to buzz and play the Star Wars theme song.

Peter felt himself smile. It seemed five fifty-five in the morning wasn’t too early for phone calls.

He tapped on the screen, pressing the speaker phone button.

_ “Happy birthday, Peter!” _

Peter winced as the noise jarred his sleep sensitive ears, but he couldn’t stop the smiling from parting his lips. Bending down he slipped on both of his shoes.

“Morning, Ned,” he said back, calmly and in a  _ before the sun has risen  _ appropriate manner.

“ _ Good morning, Peetterrrr,”  _ Ned sung through the speakers. “ _ And happy birthdaaayyyyy.” _

“Oh, is it my birthday? I hadn’t even realised.” Peter pulled on his watch on his left wrist, slipped on the beads on his wrist, and tucked both pieces underneath his dark blue jumpers’ sleeves. 

“ _ You’re a liar, you had it in your diary, and your phone, and I know Karen had a count down that you saw every time you went out on patrollllllll.” _

_ “Ned!”  _ a voice yelled faintly in the phone, and Peter had to stifle his laugh. “ _ Enough singing!” _

_ “Sorry mum,”  _ Ned yelled back. “Last night I told my mum that my joy cannot be contained, but evidently it can be.”

Peter jogged out of his house and sped along the footpath, bag bouncing against his back, black duffle bag swaying beside him where he stuck it do his belt using his webs. It was six already, and he really didn’t want to be late to school this morning. “I expect nothing less from Mrs. Leeds.”

Ned huffed in his ear. It was quiet for a few moments before he said in a sly voice, “Sooo, Peter.”

Instantly Peter felt suspicious. “Yeah…” he said carefully.

“You remember what today is?” Ned sounded much to gleeful now.

“I mean, I hadn’t exactly forgotten.”

“So, you remember that today we are going to visit  _ Stark Industries and the Compound.” _ Ned sounding as though he were trying not to scream and doing a poor job of it.

Peter was excited for his friend. It was a dream come true for Ned to have this kind of opportunity. An adult tourist pass was too far away for the recently turned seventeen-year-old, and without a school tour it would be another five years before he qualified as a mature adult.

But there was the slight issue that Peter couldn’t seem to get past.

He worked at SI.

He  _ lived  _ at the Compound.

“I am so  _ excited.”  _ This time Ned did scream. Another scolding, another whispered apology, and then he was back. He must be getting driven to school, otherwise the subway would have ignored him squealing. “Aren’t you excited, Peter.”

“I mean, yeah,” he shrugged even though he knew Ned couldn’t see him. “But I work there, Ned.”

“I know, doesn’t that just make it more exciting. It’ll be like looking at everything with a new perspective. Okay I have to go. Mum might kill me if I keep yelling like this.”

Ned hung up before he could finish saying goodbye.

Peter shoved his phone into his pocket. He sucked in a deep breath at the door, before shoving it open.

The lights were bright, and he flinched against them.

Staggering into the kitchen, the duffle bag swinging against his leg with every step, he dove into the fridge and whipped out a carefully packaged container of homemade lasagne and roasted veggies, ladled with a post it note that said,  _ Clint’s only, back off!!!! :((((((( _

He didn’t bother heating it up in the microwave before digging in. He didn’t bother checking the time, he knew he didn’t have time to eat.

He shut the door with his foot and looked up only when the back of his neck began to itch.

Swallowing his bite, he carefully set his fork down, raised his head and glared at the two people sitting next to each other on the island.

“Looking forward to the trip?” Sam said innocently. Clint sat next to him, the perfect picture of innocent, if a bit miffed that his food was being stolen without a hint of remorse.

“Are you meeting the class there?” Clint asked, voice like he was trying not to laugh.

Peter didn’t bother replying. He carefully snapped the lid on his food, the fork trapped inside, stuffed it into his bag, and started towards the front door. His quin jet should be waiting and ready to go.

Clint stepped out in front of him, smiling a smile so wide all of his teeth were showing. His hands were planted on his hips.

Peter glanced towards Sam, then went back to Clint. He pulled out his phone, winced when he saw the time, and then went back to Clint still standing in front of him.

“I can’t help but feel like I’m under attack,” he finally said. “And quite honestly, as much as I would love to find out what’s happening, unfortunately I have to get to school.”

Clint inched to the side, just enough for Peter to muscle past him, and then he was gone – sprinting out the door.

When he stepped into his quinjet, they were not so far away that he couldn’t hear the quietly uttered,  _ happy birthday,  _ said in a tone so gleeful it send shivers down his spine.

The hanger closed, and Peter stuck his middle finger out against the direction of the hub.

With a sigh he collapsed into his single seat, signed in, and whipped out his phone. Tucking into his stolen breakfast, he stuffed it down before he checked his texts.

Finishing with a burb, he snapped the lid on, and dumped it by his feet.

He had a text he had been ignoring since he woke up.

As the quinjet sped off in the direction of SI he read what Flash had sent him at five thirty am.

_ You meeting the class there, Parker? _

That small, innocent line shouldn’t have sent butterflies fluttering about his stomach, but according to the most awkward conversation he had ever had with Steve, and an even worse talk with Tony when he walked in half way through, the heart wants what it wants.

Tony hadn’t fully understood what was happening, but he heard the words  _ crush  _ and  _ Peter  _ and had taken it from there.

Peter was just thankful he didn’t know who it was.

Unfortunate for Peter what his heart wanted was someone he had known since freshman year, had been friends with for less than a month, and had someone gone from hating them to wondering what his favourite colour was.

One in the morning, and light concussion later, and he found out his favourite colour was blue.

Peter really had to stop taking his phones on patrol, but honestly there was nothing else to do sometimes apart from play games and scroll Instagram.

_ Gots too, mr Harrington lightly threatened me with expulsion _

_ He threatened you??? _

Peter couldn’t help himself from smiling.

_ *lightly* threatened _

_ Like how stuff can be a little bit broken _

_ And only a little bit stupid _

_ And a little concussed _

_ I was *lightly* threatened _

_ I don’t understand you. _

_ Honestly this was an accident, but father saw, and he said if you want, he can help you sue _

Peter tried to force his smile to go away, but it refused – planting itself on his face like a parasite slowly sucking away all the ideas about why dating Flash would be a bad idea.

_ Tell him he’s my new favourite person, _

_ but since it was only a *light* threaten, I will have _

_ to pass _

The small bubble popped up. Peter frowned when it disappeared.

He could almost imagine Flash biting his lip and he tried to decide what to say.

_ I thought I was your favourite person? _

Peter froze.

Sucked in a deep breath.

And threw his phone as far away as he possibly could, grabbed his bag, and buried his face into the canvas to scream.

It hit the glass with a dull  _ thunk,  _ slid to the ground and only stopped when it hit his foot.

His watch beeping was the only thing that brought the bag away from his face, and he carefully tapped it a few times to indicate that he was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Amazingly fine.

In fact, not once in Peter Parkers now seventeen years of age, had he ever been more fine than in that exact moment.

His phone buzzed.

He threw his bag behind him, his leg flexing with the urge to kick his phone.

“FRI?” he asked, strangled. “Who is taking me to school, this fine morning?”

“Kimberly Gill will be driving you,” she replied.

Peter nodded stiffly, bent to pick up his phone, and tapped in the passcode.

_ I thought I was your favourite person? _

And below that, written almost like an afterthought, as though he hadn’t just broken Spiderman, was a note wishing him happy birthday.

Peter had the mind set to heart react his birthday wish, and slump in his seat, staring out the glass with a dazed expression.

He did not move until the jet had landed, only stopping to make sure his bag was slung onto his back, and his phone ( _ I thought I was your favourite person?)  _ was in his pocket.

Dazed, the elevator descended by itself, stopping at the garage.

Blonde hair sat behind the wheel of an already rumbling car. He didn’t pause at the sight, although he did note that it was an odd choice.

SI had three cars marked with the logo at any one time. A black Mitsubishi ASX with the SI label logo printed on the drivers and passenger side door.

Perfect for distracting the paparazzi while the actual visitors slipped away.

Peter slipped into the front seat and pulled on his seat belt with shaking hands, already forgetting the logos on the side.

“Morning, Peter,” Kim said, putting her phone down, and reversing. “Got everything?”

Peter thought he said something but judging from the odd look she sent his way it was more of a strangled whine.

“I’m going to assume that was a yes?” Peter did not respond with any level of coherence. She continued anyway, either ignorant of the crisis Peter was going through, or ignoring it completely. “Happy has your pass, all of the same clearance levels as your old one, this one just looks like all of the others…Peter?”

A small hum, as Peter stared down at his phone.

“Is everything alright?”

“I thought I was your favourite person?”

Kim was silent for a moment. “I mean, you are. But I have a feeling that this doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Peter his head roughly, smoothing his hair back when he finished. “Sorry,” he finally said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Does this have to do with Flash?” Peters head shot towards her so fast something in his neck cracked. “Or why you don’t have your duffle bag?”

“How do you know that name? I mean, what name? I mean, um, I have my duffle bag here,” he reached down to where the web was connected to his jeans, but his fingertips trailed over nothing but a damp patch.

He lifted his hands and sniffed the tips, eyes narrowing as he recognised crisp smell of mint scented web remover.

“I am going to kill Clint. And Sam. And Steve. Maybe Bucky.” He lifted up his hands and started counting how many people were soon to be dead and buried.

Kim snorted, and Peter rolled his eyes in her direction. “Don’t worry, mama, you’re on that list as well.”

She scoffed, one hand on her chest as though she had been grievously wounded. “I cannot believe I am on your shit list. I have not done a single thing wrong in my entire life.”

“Okay, that felt like a lie, but you are driving so I’m going to let this pass.”

Kim sent him a look that told him he was lucky she was driving otherwise she wouldn’t have let such a comment pass. “Don’t think you’ve distracted me from this Flash Thompson, baby-spider.”

This time Peter was able to keep his mind from overloading. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Silence for a few moments, then:

“Tony knows.”

Peter slapped a hand to his forehead. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“He was the one who told me.”

“I hate my life.”

“Actually, it might have been Steve. I know he texted  _ everyone  _ about the baby of the families first real crush.”

He tried the door, but it was locked and unable to be opened when the car was in motion. “I just want you to know that if I could, I would have jumped out.”

Kim reached over and ruffled his hair. He didn’t slap it away because he actually wanted to live long enough to have kids one day.

Jumping out of a moving car = literally something he did on a far too regular basis.

Crossing Natasha, even dressed as Kim = certain death. No one would find his body. Not even if they planted a tracker.

Peter glanced down at the Kimoyo beads. Even with the Kimoyo beads, he was sure she would find a away to keep him hidden for as long as she wanted. 

“Do you want me to drop off your bag once I steal it off Clint and Sam?”

He nodded miserably, staring out of the window.

“Baby-spider?”

He rolled his head towards Kim and moaned.

She was biting her lip, and her eyebrows were furrowed, almost like she was worried. Or trying not to laugh. “You know I’m always here for you.”

Peter nodded. Then when that wasn’t good enough, he spoke. “I know, mama. And thank you, for getting my bag.”

She stopped biting her lip and turned it into a sad smile. “I haven’t even got it yet.” Her smile turned wicked. “In fact, there is no guarantee that when I do get it back, everything you packed will still be in there.”

Peter tried to scowl, but somehow it turned into a wide smile. “Please try, I spent the last month deciding on what to bring.”

When it was quiet for a few moments, he leaned over and fiddled with the radio. He paused then, hands only a few inches away from the dial. “Hey, mama?”

“Yes, spider?”

“Why are we in this car?”

“Well,” he watched her glance around the interior. “You can’t drive yet, and since you need a quick way to get to school that doesn’t involve swinging-”

He cut her with a wave of his hand, and an apology. Then he said, “No, I mean, why are we in this specific car? With the SI logos printed on the sides?”

Kim smirked. “Are you going to tell me why you blushed when Flash Thompsons name was mentioned?”

Peter flinched and fell back into his seat. Folding his arms and glaring at her was as much of an answer he was going to give.

Kim laughed at that. She nodded out of the front window. “We’re here.”

Peter sat forward in his seat, and sighed, staring out at the students milling about the front of the yellow school bus. There were three idling, some already had students sitting inside.

With no small amount of resignation, he watched as a few turned and pointed at the car. Maybe they wouldn’t notice it was him getting out?

He leaned over and kissed Kim on the cheek. He climbed up and before he closed the door asked, “When you do drop in the bag, can you, I don’t know, be subtle about it?” He gave the car a pointed look.

Kim’s wicked smile painted in Natasha red was all the answer he needed before she sped off.

“Peter!” a voice cried, and he jogged over to where Ned stood waving frantically. MJ was not waving, but she did give him a smile, so that was nice. Flash was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was already on the bus?

“You’re early,” MJ commented, already holding a small sketchbook, and a pocket full of pens.

“By ten whole minutes.” He aimed a pointed look at the sketchbook tucked into her inside pocket. “Hoping for a few good inspirational moments.”

MJ nodded sagely. “Always. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay,” Ned interrupted before either of them could say anything more. “I don’t know what’s happening, but its kind of scary, so quick – get out all of you guys fear inducing talk and then we can have actual-not-scary-fun.”

Peter and MJ shared a look, and MJ carefully pulled out her sketchbook. She flipped it open and quickly wrote a few things down, then slid it back into her pocket and zipped up her hoodie.

“You terrify me,” Ned told her. “Happy birthday, Peter,” he told him.

MJ looked far too pleased with his statement. Turning to Peter she asked, “Weird question, can you ask your…” she waved a hand vaguely in the air, “…robot friend to take photos of our group when they get shocked or surprised.”

Peter whistled; eyebrows arched. “I thought taking photos ruined the authenticity?”

She shrugged. “It does, but unfortunately I don’t think I’m going to be able to catch all of the fear and terror, and I would rather have photos of each of the moments so that I can remember them, and then pick and choose which ones I like.”

Peter supposed that made sense. “I mean, FRI takes videos of everything, so it wouldn’t be too tough to get photos.”

MJ’s eyes narrowed on the word  _ videos.  _ “Could I get the videos as well?”

He thought about it for a moment, nodded, then shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Ned shook is head. “You both terrify me.”

This time MJ turned to him with a polite smile and thanked him.

“Why are Michelle and Peter terrifying?” someone asked behind him.

He stiffened slightly, before spinning with a too bright smile on his face.

“I mean,” Flash waved his hands placatingly when Peter felt MJ step next to him. “I know you’re terrifying. I was just wondering what was happening at this exact moment to make both of you terrifying.”

MJ huffed, and pulled out her sketchbook. “Nothing of importance,” she said, glancing between Flashes face and the spiral bound book.

Flash nodded slowly, expression saying he didn’t truly believe her. Wisely, he left it. “Hey, Peter.”

“H-hey, Flash. Good morning. Um this is Ned.” He pointed to Ned and dragged him forward by the arm.

Flash sent him a look that blatantly said he was acting odd, but luckily for Peters already malfunctioning brain, he went along with it. “Hi Ned.”

“Hey Flash. You excited for the trip?”

Flashes face brightened, and he quickly jumped into a rushed conversation about everything he was looking forward too.

Another thing that had come from last weeks dinner.

Apparently, Flash was friends with his friends now. Something he had not only not expected, but something that made him far too happy.

Apparently, the conversation has ebbed enough for Ned to suddenly ask, “Did you see that car that pulled up?”

Flash nodded vigorously and smiled wide enough to show teeth. “So  _ awesome.” _

Who knew resident cool guy was a fanboy.

… _ resident cool guy???? What’s happening to me??? _

“So, Peter.”

Peter jerked when his name was said, and he quickly stood at attention.

Luckily, none of his friends made note of his strange behaviour, apart from a few hasty scribbles of a pencil, and Peter hummed.

“Whose car was that?”

So apparently people had seen him climb out.

Damn.

“Oh, um.” He glanced at Ned as though he were going to rescue him, but he shrugged. Oh well. “Mamas.” He nodded like it made perfect sense.

Flash unfortunately, must not have believed it made perfect sense. “Your mother just casually brought you too school in an official SI car?”

Peter shrugged again. “I mean,” – when in doubt it was best to follow instinct – “she works there, and needed the car for the entire day, so she picked it up last night.”

Instincts bad.

Instincts very,  _ very bad. _

What was even happening that needed one of the higher ups to be driven around?

He would ask FRIDAY, but he knew the answer was nothing. Nada.  _ Zilch. _

Flash nodded slowly. “Oh, I see.” Then he shook his head. “I lied; I don’t see at all. Your mum works at SI and I’m only just hearing about this  _ now?” _

_ I thought I was your favourite person,  _ his mind finished for him, and he only just stopped from choking.

Peter blinked stupidly. “Um.”

MJ seemed to have finally finished the base for her sketch, as she stepped forward, slapped Peter on the back when she stopped. “Don’t blame Peter for not saying anything, Flash. Remember how much everyone believed Peter about his internship?

Flash cringed. “You  _ are  _ terrifying.” To Peter he said, “I’m sorry. I should have said that last week, but I didn’t know how.”

Peter nodded so fast the world went blurry. “It’s okay.” MJ pinched his side. “I mean – thank you for apologising, Flash.”

Flash shifted from foot to foot, keeping his eyes on the ground as he nodded.

“Alright students,” a voice called. Peter turned towards them, and only barely saw the arms waving above the crowd. “Because we have three buses, you guys are going to be split up between homerooms. Homeroom one, in the first bus, homeroom two, in the second bus, and homeroom three, in the last bus.”

Peter waved goodbye to Ned and waited until he recognised people at whatever one was the third bus, then followed Flash over.

A hand grabbed his arm and he was pulled to a stop. MJ threaded her arm through his and started off again.

“So,” MJ began, with a small smirk. “A little bird told me that you have a crush on a certain someone.”

Peter swallowed back a whimper. In a small voice he asked, “Was it Ned?”

MJ laughed; her head thrown back, pausing in her steps. Peter scowled at her. It had no impact. When she calmed down, shoulders still occasionally shaking, she said, “No, we were getting coffee when you called.”

He hated to ask, but he had to know. “Who was getting coffee?”

“Oh, the entire decathlon team – minus you and Flash of course.”

God dammit.

Sometimes he truly hated his Parker Luck.

“…why?”

MJ still had a smirk, only now it said she was enjoying his suffering far too much. “We called an emergency meeting because there was a change in which of the others schools made it into finals – don’t worry, we’re pretty sure we won’t come last. Anyway, Ned said you had something on, and then we checked the snap maps and saw you and Flash together.”

Peter was not looking forward to where this was going.

“And then Betty said Flash must have finally realised he had a crush on you, so we thought it might be a date-”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Shush, MJ’s talking. So anyway, we finished the meeting really quick, and then we were hella bored and we still hadn’t decided if we were going to text and ask about the date.”

They were getting far too close to Flash for comfort for MJ to keep using that word. “MJ it wasn’t a date,” he tried again.

Again, she ignored him. “And then we got maybe a little bit too invested, so we went to get pizza, then on the way to the subway we all stopped and got ice coffee when Ned got your call.” Finally, they stopped next to the bus, cutting in through the line. The person behind them wisely didn’t say anything when he saw it was MJ. “You yell really loud by the way. We all heard you.”

Peter slapped a hand to his forward, bringing the other one up and burying his face into his palms. “This is the worst day ever.”

MJ rubbed his shoulder, almost comforting if it weren’t for the words she spoke next. “Don’t say that Peter. The day hasn’t even  _ begun.” _

Peter whimpered, eyes screwed shut. MJ nudged him forward, and he took a few shuffling steps until she said to stop.

“Oh and, don’t worry. We made a pact that we wouldn’t say anything, until  _ after  _ your birthday.”

Peter felt almost grateful. He pulled his hands away from his eyes, saw her bright eyes and shit eating grin, and all feelings of gratefulness seemed out of his shoes.

“I actually hate you.”

Her shit eating grin somehow got wider, her eyes brighter.

Even still the guilt immediately seeped back in where the gratefulness had been. “Okay I didn’t mean that.”

“So, Peter,” Mr. Harrington said in front of him. Peter turned his head away from MJ and faced him. They had reached the front of the line without even noticing. “Got everything?”

It wasn’t truly a question, with Mr. Harrington tacking on a pointed look at his single backpack, obviously not full enough to have clothes inside.

It wasn’t even seven yet and already Mr. Harrington was getting on his nerves. “My,” – What did Clint and Sam count as; brothers or weird uncles – “brothers stole it when I left for school. My mum said she would bring it and drop it off at the reception area or leave it at her desk.”

Mr. Harrington’s brows rose so far Peter feared they would disappear in his hairline. “At her desk.”

Peter nodded.

“At Stark Industries.”

Peter nodded again.

Mr. Harrington’s eyes narrowed. “You know we won’t be making any stops from SI to the compound, right Peter?”

Peter nodded once more. “Can I get on the bus now?” he asked, glancing between Mr. Harrington and the bus.

Mr. Harrington highlighted his name on a sheet of paper and waved him away.

Once he climbed into the bus, he made it three steps away from where Flash sat – annoyingly alone considering how many of their decathlon teammates were sitting around him.

The hairs on the back of his neck flared, but he saw the foot sticking out far to late for him to step over it without suspicion. So, he fell into the seat next to Flash, and only gave Betty a mild glare.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Flash said with a small smile. If Peter were to guess, he would have said it almost looked shy.

Luckily, Peter wasn’t actually stupid, so no matter how much he wanted to blush or stutter or, god forbid, return Flash’s smile with one of his own he didn’t.

Or at least that was the plan until MJ ruffled his hair, and Flash laughed, his shoulders shaking, and a hand covered the lower half of his face, as though he didn’t want anyone to know he was feeling happy.

Peter felt his cheeks heat, his mouth smile, and when he finally spoke – “Y-yeah, almost like we’re going on the same field trip,” – he stuttered.

The sound of multiple phones taking photos fluttered around him, and he barely resisted the urge to bring his out and ask FRI to delete all of the photos taken.

Flash huffed a laugh. “Impossible. The two of us, getting along? Able to stay the same place together? Never.”

_ I thought I was your favourite person,  _ is what his mind replied.

“Absolutely impossible,” is what his mouth said.

“ _ Completely  _ impossible.”

Peter nodded vigorously. “I have never heard such nonsense in my entire life.”

Behind him he heard a few distinct coos, and even one-person mutter how cute they were. Another wondered why it had taken them this long to get together.

_ Christ, how long have people been shipping us? _

_ How did I not know? _

_ More importantly, WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME FLASH HAD A CRUSH ON ME? _

“Do you want to see some of mums paintings she did this week?” Flash asked, and Peter agreed before he even realised what he had agreed to.

Before Peter had even realised time had passed, the outside world disappeared and was replaced by an underground car park. They were here.

The entire bus to seemed to quiet as they took in the knew scenery. It was just a normal underground carpark, with white lines and concrete walls. The only difference was that that the level they were on was high enough to hold two busses stacked on top of each other.

“Do you think all of the levels are like this?” Flash asked, leaning in close so he could whisper.

Peter leaned back into him, and whispered back, “Nah, all of the others of regular height.”

Flash nodded like it made sense.

Peter leaned backwards slightly and narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not gonna call me a liar or something?”

Flash had the audacity to roll his eyes. “I haven’t called you a liar about your internship in months, Peter. The last time I even heard anyone suggest you were lying was Mr Harrington, like, ages ago. Don't get me wrong, once Lucas got here with his actual identification card and all that, people think you're lying even more. But he's a dickhead and you're cute, so i believe you more than other people. Especially now that your mum dropped you off.” Flash seemed embarrassed to admit this, his head tilted down and fixed on his shoes. 

Peter couldn’t stop his smile from spreading even if he wanted to. He reached out and grabbed his hands where they were sitting in his lap, laced together. “Thankyou,” he said, completely sincere.

Flash stared down at their conjoined hands, and slowly followed his arm until it reached Peters eyes. “You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

A bright flash of light caught Peters eyes and he reared backwards, hand leaving Flashes. He turned and glared at MJ, who was sitting next Betty, holding her phone looking completely innocent.

She slowly raised her head from her phone, and gave him an unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised. She nudged Betty and showed her something on her phone. Betty cooed and asked her to send it to her. “Can I help you?” she asked when she looked up and saw him glaring.

Peter narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

Next to him, he heard Flash began to text, then a swoosh. Then, a notification popped up on MJ’s screen, and she smirked before sending a reply.

Scowling, Peter turned to face the front, and a  _ ping  _ sounded from Flash’s phone.

Peter refused to think of the reason why.

He also refused to believe that anything suspicious was happening when nearly every other phone around him began to buzz.

The bus came to a stop, and Mr. Harrington stood upright, turned to face the students from his position at the front of the bus.

“Michelle, Peter, Flash, and Betty, please stay behind. Can this row,” he held out a hand and pointed at his side of the isle, “please exit first. Once everyone from this side is off, everyone of the other side can go. But before you go, please stay next to the buses. Do not go over to the people holding the tour guide signs, they aren’t for us.”

Bags were jostled against Peters head, apologies were muttered and ignored, and when everyone had exited, Mr. Harrington waddled up to the front, first aid kid hitting each of the seats and bouncing off.

Staring at each student in turn, he said, “A tour guide will meet you outside, you are to go with them, you are to behave.” When he said that he stared into Peters eyes. “You are to answer questions as well and accurately as possible.” His eyebrows raised, still staring into Peters soul. “When asked questions about how the school teaches you,” he tacked on, as though that was what he had planned to say the entire time. “MJ, I am leaving you in charge of keeping these kids,” He looked back at Peter with another raised eyebrow look, before back to MJ. “In line, okay.”

“No.”

Mr. Harrington laughed, like he thought she was joking.

Peter and MJ shared a glance.

At least he wouldn’t be around for the entire day. That would just be the  _ worst. _

He turned back, and Peter reluctantly followed, Flash following closely behind. He heard Betty and MJ share a laugh before they followed suit.

Today was going to be tough.

_ I’m sure it’ll be fine. _

“Do you know where we’re supposed to meet the tour guide?” someone asked, behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw MJ point at a sign bobbing above the crowd. “A guess, but that sign says  _ tour guide.  _ I mean, it could be wrong, but honestly I have no idea.”

“That’s not what honestly means,” he said as he elbowed his way through the crowd. The further away they got from the buses, the denser the students seemed to be packed.

“I honestly had no idea.”

Peter snorted. “You knew exactly where it was. You always do this. Last week you said you literally had no idea iced coffee had ice in it.”

Behind him Flash snorted, Betty chuckled, and MJ poked his side.

“Yeah, and I literally had no idea that ice was in iced coffee. And I take offense to that by the way, I have never, not once, in my entire life ever exaggerated something like that. You will be hearing from my attorney.”

“Please, you don’t have the guts to sue me.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t have any money.”

MJ was quiet for a moment, and he glanced behind him to asked if she had a response or if she was just going to give up when he saw her, hands braced on her knees, silently shaking.

Peter sighed, waving Flash and Betty away when they went to help her upright. Peter resisted the urge to turn around and watch Flash walk away.

A minute passed, the crowd thinned, and MJ finally straightened, wiping tears from her cheeks. “That was the funniest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

“Why exactly?” Peter slipped MJs hand back through his elbow, and he strode toward the small group gathering below the sign. Distantly, he heard Mr. Harrington yell at students to get over to the buses.

He felt MJ begin to shake, but he tried his best to ignore it and his arm shaking with her.

“Because my dearest, dearest friend apart from Ned and Betty and Jake and Samuel and somehow Flash now, out of all of us – including Flash by the way – you are the only one who knows what Tony Stark looks like in his pyjamas.”

Peter flinched. “No, I don’t,” he said quickly, eyes darting as he tried to figure out if anyone was listening. No one was around them, all of the other students waiting patiently by the buses for their tour guides, and the six other students were all engrossed in their own conversations.

Technically he did, but the way she said it made it sound like he was a sugar baby – and he really didn’t need people to be talking about that for the entire day. His stomach rolled, nausea invading his chest as he thought about the concept.

_ Tony Stark’s sugar baby – the one, the only, Peter Parker. _

He was pulled away from his thoughts about where the nearest bathroom was when MJ sighed.

It wasn’t an quite an annoyed sound – it was more like she was indulging in a child’s story that had been going on for longer than anyone had anticipated; soft and done with a soft smile that hid the urge to silence them and go do the laundry.

Peter took back his earlier thought.

It was definitely an annoyed sound, if expertly hidden. 

“Okay,” she conceded, “I should have phrased that better. Sounds gross and hella like you too have a less than father-son relationship.”

Peter gave a half-nod. “Thank you, I feel sick.”

MJ did not look like she cared.

“I figured, but I’m not dealing with your denial issues right now – not about the possible relationship, but about the no money thing. We are at Stark Industries, and I am actually looking forward to this.”

They finally made it to the group of people huddled beneath the sign. MJ had kept him so busy talking that he hadn’t even had time to scan the people gathered.

The sign bobbed and spun, and the person holding the stick holding it upright twisted to face them. Peter shifted to the side so he could see the person, and froze; heart speeding up, breath coming faster, and his watch began to vibrate against his wrist.

Either he had just fallen in love ( _ I thought I was your favourite person)  _ or he was nervous.

Someone stopped next to him, and his eyes flew towards Flash, who seemed to have the same idea and met his gaze with a soft smile, before Flash turned back towards the tour guide.

Nervous it was.

He looked back towards the guide and tried to swallow.

It could have been worse, he supposed.

He could have been in the group that got one of the interns he had worked with or trained or once accosted in the middle of the night when he was on the search for coffee after he got back from patrol.

Instead, for some inexplicable reason he would normally blame on God if Tony Stark weren’t closer, his group got the head of Research and Design, Ella Winters.

Not a group head, or a level manager, but the head – the lady herself who sat across from Peter in board meetings – was their tour guide.

Internally he shrugged. He supposed it made sense that he hadn’t fallen in love.

Ella was dressed in a white dress that clung to her down to just above her knees, a white coat hung on her shoulders, and the sleeves, while they were full length, had a slit in them that started at her bicep, allowing her to move her arms freely without ruining the line of the sleeve.

Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face in a low ponytail, and from her ears hung golden hoops. Her heels  _ clacked  _ when she moved, and a glance told him they were the same red as her lips.

“Wonderful,” she said, in a tone that Peter had never heard from her before. Normally she stood her ground, and her voice reflected that – never giving a quarter when the health of the people working in her department were at risk or when someone had filed a sexual assault complaint and half of the men working in the building thought it was the woman’s fault for wearing normal human clothes and being a human being.

Right now, she was light and lilting and perfectly catered to strike down all anxiety in the anxiety-riddled teenagers around him.

Peter only guessed that’s what it was for, judging from the way Betty immediately sighed in relief behind him, and Lucas breathed out softly next to her, like he was also relieved.

He stiffened, eyes stinging as they stretched around the edges.

What was Lucas doing here?

Right now, right here, right behind him, in a tour group only those with the highest marks in their classes could get into?

Then it hit him.

He turned an accusatory gaze on MJ. He blew a sharp breath out of his nose and resolved to have strong words with her later – only once Ella finished speaking off course.

He loved his friend.

He truly did.

But keeping him distracted so he didn’t have time to see that Lucas was in the group, was a stroke of genius the likes of which Peter would have never expected.

A stroke of genius so brilliant Peter didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful.

He heard Lucas shift on his feet and began to lean heavily towards furious.

Oh yes, they would be having very strong words later.

Having missed out of part of Ella’s spiel, he was reasonably confused when the first thing he heard was  _ assignments  _ and immediately thought he had somehow forgotten to do the homework for the tour.

When she continued, he realised he actually was the stupidest person alive.

She had asked them what assignments they had done to win such a spot on her tour.

“Each school had a different way of deciding. Last week it was voted upon, and a few weeks ago it was even who had the best oral presentation, arguing for their case and why they should be on this tour.”

Betty stepped forward, slipping around Flash to stand in front of Ella. “I received an A-plus for my English Essay.”

“Oh wow,” Ella said, sounding genuine. “What was the essay about?”

Betty beamed. “The Fallibility of Modern Heroes vs Ancient Heroes. The notes said I was one of the few who truly understood the assignment.”

Peter tried not to cringe – his English teacher still hadn’t forgiven him for not handing in.

Betty stepped back, and a few other stepped forward.

Peter mumbled nonsense about his grade in the mock physics exam, and Ella nodded the same as she had for everyone else.

Thank God.

Or rather, thank Tony Stark for thinking of giving his group a tour guide that knew the consequences of what would happen if it got out that Peter worked at the company.

Oooh the scandal, the drama channels,  _ the school days. _

He could see the headlines now.

_ Peter Parker – employee or is it something far more sinister *shocking* _

_ Peter Parker. Sugar baby or genius? _

_ Some of Peters co-workers speak out against him. _

And then Ella called Lucas forward, and all thoughts that didn’t involve him dissolved into a puddle and settled in the back of his mind.

Peter heard his voice behind him, coming from just above him head. “I’m new actually, they didn’t tell me which of my previous schools’ assignments and work they used, but here I am.”

Ella nodded like it made perfect sense, even though it really kinda didn’t, and it seemed Lucas was the last person who had to speak because she asked them to be quiet.

“Thank you, guys. Now today you are in for a treat. But first, we have to get a few things out of the way – NDA’s and the like.” When everyone groaned and shared a glance, she laughed and waved her hand placatingly. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long. Just think, once all of this is done you can see things only a few members of the public have ever seen before.”

As if on cue, the elevator to the left of the group  _ dinged,  _ and out stepped four interns, all dressed in SI jackets and black jeans. Not one of them spared Peter a glance, even though he had worked with all of them multiple times just last week. 

Ella did not seem surprised at the perfect timing. Perhaps she had planned it. Peter wouldn’t put it past her. Actually no, Peter wouldn’t put it past his family, all far more protective than they let on – and they already let on quite a bit.

She gestured towards the other tour guides, and they stopped, waved, and said hello when Ella said, “These are some of the other groups tour guides. We are on a tight schedule, so I won’t keep them, but we will snag their elevator. Everyone pile in now.”

With how small the group was, and large the elevator was, they could stand a good foot and a half apart from each other and not touch either the walls or anyone else.

He stood next to the wall, and Flash stood next to him, a lot closer than a foot away.

“This elevator was specially built when the Transparency Act was brought in,” Ella explained as the doors closed, and she pressed a button on the wall, pulling an SI card from where it was hidden in her coat. She pressed it against a black square above the buttons. It beeped, and she put it back inside her coat. “It is large enough to comfortably fit twenty-five people, thirty if they squeezed. This is actually why the tour groups are split into groups of twenty-five, so with the constant going in and out of elevators we can avoid building annoyance, and the like.”

They only had to go up two flights to the second floor, so the doors quickly opened, and Peter waved the others ahead of him. Flash stepped away, and Peter kept his eyes steadily on the back of his neck, trying not to look down past his waist.

He failed.

It was for this reason he missed the group standing by the glass doors until Ella stepped to the side of the elevator and gestured for the others to stand around her.

Peter didn’t notice who it was until the hushed conversation stopped abruptly, and he heard a very familiar intake of breath.

He stiffened, gave Flash a brittle smile when he asked if he was okay, and slowly twisted around.

Three interns were standing by the glass doors – right next to the metal scanners by the sides, all wearing their SI jackets and black pants.

And in front of them stood Happy, who was quickly glancing between his watch and the group. Because of the distance it would have been easy for Peter to pretend Happy wasn’t staring directly at him, but alas, Peter rarely did things that were easy.

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6734  
> so um, my bad for the like 2 month wait?  
> i blame...something important thats happening in my life? idk what it is, comment what you think it it  
> anyway  
> enjoy

**CHAPTER 8**

Happy only looked like he had seen a ghost for a moment, before a just-barely-holding-back-his-annoyance expression bled onto his face. It had never been directed at Peter before. He didn’t like it.

It was hard to connect the two, the Happy that tried to make sure Peter didn’t even hear him swear, and the Happy stalking towards the group. He jerked his head to the left.

Peter felt his body spasm, like Happy was asking Peter to meet him in the hallway, and his brain caught onto the fact before he did. His brain was wrong. Ella stepped forward, because her brain actually worked, and knew that Happy was talking to her.

She told the group to stay and met Happy halfway. They walked over to the hallway and stepped inside, just far enough that anyone else listening wouldn’t be able to hear them.

Peter was not anyone, and he truly didn’t mean to listen. Most of the time, it just happened.

“You guys are early,” said Happy, voice stern. 

“The other interns came down, and we stepped right on,” Ella said back in an equally stern voice, not giving a quarter. Flash shuffled over to MJ and Betty where they were writing down questions they wanted to ask as.

Peter followed, only paying enough attention to not run into anyone. He gave Flash a small smile as he pointed at a few questions. He asked the girls if they could add a few things to be more clarifying.

He turned his back to the two in the hallway, in an effort to give them some semblance of privacy. It didn’t work.

“I checked the schedule, we both followed it. The elevator must be going faster than normal,” he noted. “Hey FRIDAY.” He must be talking in his Ear-Comm. “Why was the elevator so fast?”

He heard Happy sigh, then said to Ella, “FRIDAY noticed Peter in the elevator and made it go faster, as close as it could get to the avenger’s elevator speed.”

Ella hummed. “We hadn’t planned for that.”

“No,” Happy agreed. “Okay, I’ll deal with that. Go, do your thing.”

Peter heard the heels click a few times, before they stopped and Ella said, “They might want to talk to you.”

Happy cursed underneath his breath.

“It might curb some questions about why I got called away.”

He sighed and agreed.

Ella waited for Happy to start walking before they both made their way to the group of twelve.

_ Thirteen,  _ Peter corrected himself.  _ Lucas is here. There are thirteen of us, instead of twelve. _

Stupid Lucas, making Peter argue with his brain. Whatever. His brain wasn’t listening anyway.

Ella stopped in front of them, waited until they all turned to face her and Happy, beamed and gestured to him. “This, students, is Harold Hogan, Head of Security at SI.”

_ Harold.  _ Peter resisted the urge to snort.  _ Harold Hogan, Forehead of Security.  _ He coughed to hide his snicker.

Ella seemed to be waiting for Happy to say something, staring at him expectantly. After a few moments she asked if anyone had any questions.

MJ raised her hand. Ella nodded at her.

“Hello, Mr. Hogan. What does your job entail, exactly?”

Betty scribbled down the question, as MJ said it.

Happy thought about it for a moment. He sighed, and with great effort it seemed, said, “I deal with the major stuff, and authorise new Protocols for the day to day operations. I also handle security for our high-level workers.”

He did not elaborate on who the high-level works were. Peter was thankful. No matter how careful they had been, and no matter how many protocols and plans were in place for today and tomorrow, a slip of the tongue and all of their carefully laid plans would go to shit.

Flash shifted next to Peter, and he glanced over just as Betty pointed at something she had just written, and then at the list of questions. She circled something with the end of her pen. Flash nodded and raised his hand. Ella called on him.

“What for the Protocols entail?”

“Making sure I don’t swear,” Peter muttered so softly, he barely heard himself.

“Well, for the everyday management of the Tower, it’s the little things like making sure that all lower level employees display their identification cards at all times. The only exceptions to this rule are out Division Heads, our CEO, her intern, and Tony himself. If the Avengers visit, they are also exceptions to this rule.”

Behind Happy, the three interns were wearing matching shit eating grins. Apparently watching the intern to Pepper Potts learning about Happy Hogan’s job was entertaining to them.

Not at all paying attention to Happy, he narrowed his eyes at the interns and flicked them to his left, in the general direction of the elevators.

One of them, Cass he thought her name was, lost her shit eating grin, and now wearing a mildly panicked expression, elbowed the two either side of her. When they were paying attention, she pulled up her arm and tapped on the top of her wrist.

They swore and shuffled towards the elevator. Ha, karma at its finest. Make fun of Peter, be late for the tour groups.

Peter zoned back in when Happy said his goodbyes and intercepted the three interns as they stepped into the elevator. He followed, and the double doors closed.

Ella led them into the hallway. “If you couldn’t guess, this is our Security Level. The main offices are accessed through those glass doors right there. This is also where our high level guests first arrive to receive their ID’s, and a few other knick knacks you guys will also be receiving. Here, you guys will also receive your NDA’s. Now those are very simple. It's just a few signatures and dotted lines, and then boom, we can begin our tour.”

They entered the second door on the left. It opened to a well-lit room. The walls were a nice soft beige, the carpet the same dark colour as the rest of the floor. On the back wall were four silver lift up doors.

Directly to the groups left were a set of maroon carpet chairs, around thirty and all lined up neatly in three rows. Ella told them to all sit in the front rows, and to grab a pen each.

Someone tugged on his arm, and after realising it was Flash, blindly followed him to the front row. He sat down on his right. MJ sat on Peters right, and Betty sunk down next to her.

The door opened again, and in hurried a frazzled looking guy, his hair ruffled, his eyes pinched and red rimmed. Either he was high or about to cry. Maybe he had already cried and was just trying to get through the day. It was ten past eight. Who knew what Ella had put him through already.

He passed Ella a stack of stapled papers, and immediately rushed out.

Ella separated the pile into two and handed each stack to the left end of the two rows they were taking up.

Peter was about to ask MJ for a pen when she handed him two.

“Thank you,” he muttered. MJ nodded back at him and glared at Lucas when he asked her for one.

Ella pulled up her own stack of papers. “Now these are the NDA’s. I know that you guys have already signed a set of NDA’s. Those non-disclosure agreements will become null and void at seven pm, Saturday night. If these NDA’s are not signed, the current NDA’s are still valid until seven pm, Saturday night, as they only entail information involving the arrival times, dates, and locations.

“These NDA’s must be signed before the tour can begin in actuality. All tour groups must sign some form of this NDA, but because you guys are a special case you get modified ones. On the first page, I will read the first paragraph, then when finished, if you agree to keep all things mentioned below the paragraph private, then print your name in block letters, and sign below the printed name. If you do not agree, then you will be removed from this modified tour group and placed into a regular tour group. If you then cannot sign their NDA, you will be placed into the public areas of the Stark Industries Tower, where you will remain until it is time for you to leave.”

She quickly read through the first paragraph. It was just a few lines stating an individual will keep all things spoken about in the private areas a secret. If any information gets leaked to the public, all members will be questioned and, if needed, sued.

Peter signed his name quickly, and heard others do the same. Only one pen hesitated. It came from directly behind him. Lucas didn’t want to sign the NDA. Hmm.

It took thirty minutes for Ella to read through the NDA. He peaked at his watch. It was already eight forty. Once everyone had signed, she collected them,  _ s _ lid open one of the silver compartments. The inside was an empty silver square. She placed the papers on the bottom, slid the door down until it clicked. It  _ hummed  _ for a second, then  _ pinged. _

Ella opened the compartment. It was empty. She turned back to the group with a smile.

“So, class, that machine just sorted through the NDA’s, and since none came back, it means that all of them have been signed properly. Of course, now we can begin the actual tour.”

She closed the compartment door, sliding it down until it clicked. She waited for a moment until it  _ pinged  _ again, then opened it. Inside was now a tray of what looked like glasses. When she had stepped past the opening, the tray slid out, extending a few feet out. She did the same for each of the four compartments.

On the right of the glasses, were what looked like white plastic Ear-Comms, then clear phone cases, and finally jackets. They came out on coat hangers, on a horizontal pole.

Ella beamed, looked proud. “Now these are the fun gadgets I was talking about. First, we have these jackets. As you saw before, the interns wear similar ones. Unlike the interns, your jackets have a red body, and yellow sleeves. This colour difference is to show people without telling them, that you guys are part of the special tour groups.”

She stopped at the next tray sticking out from the wall. This one was filled with phone cases, and what looked like little black rectangles.

She grabbed one of the small black pieces, and the clear phone case. “These may look like normal phone cases, but they are mandatory for all of our employees. See these small white lines all over the back? Those stop FRIDAY from shutting down your phones, otherwise they can be a safety issue. They also stop your phones from picking up details in photos that could compromise the NDA’s, or the privacy of our employees.”

She put the clear phone case back and gestured with the small black rectangle. “This is basically the end of a charger cord that sticks out a tiny bit from the base of your phone. This is going to instantly connect you to the Wi-Fi, and also allows photos, videos, and audio files to be recorded. Basically, it censors your phones to stop private information from being leaked.”

Ella moved on next to the glasses, almost the exact same as Peter’s own, but all white, with clear lenses. “Now, these work the same as the phone cases, but for your eyes. Everything you are going to see today is either being published publicly in the future or released in the future. The NDA’s are meant to stop this information from being leaked. However, slip ups can happen, and the glasses will stop you from seeing them. They will also block codes and passwords.”

Finally, she arrived at the Ear-Comms. “These are our ear communication devices. All of our tour groups use these. I have my own in place at the moment as a tour guide. This will allow you guys to hear me without me having to shout.”

She went back to her spot next to the jackets. The same intern ran it, eyes even more red. He was sniffing with every step. He must have cried again. He passed her a stack of ID cards and ran out of the room.

Peter didn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine the stress of interning for Ella, let alone on a day when she was doing everything completely different from her normal.

Ella thanked him. She pushed the jackets back into the wall and closed the compartment.

“Before I forget, everything I have shown you, minus the charger points, can be brought at the end of our regular tours. You guys are special. Everything here, you get to keep, for free. Before I get any further, please make sure to grab one of each of the items. Only the glasses and phone cases are mandatory, however without all of the items there are places in the building that you will not be able to enter or visit. Now, when I call your name, please come forward, put your jacket size into the small keypad next to this compartment, and then make your way down the line. When you have collected your items please take a seat.”

Ella called MJ first. She went up, grabbed her card, and punched in her jacket size. The compartment door slid upwards, and a jacket was hanging there.

Peter hissed when Flash elbowed him.

“Can you believe this?” he whispered; voice tight like he was trying to hold back his excitement.

Peter couldn’t help his smile. “I really can’t.”

Flash rolled his eyes, his smile fond. “Yeah, yeah, Mr.  _ My Mum Works Here, _ I bet you see this sort of stuff all of the time.”

He snorted. “I honestly don’t see anything other than her office.”  _ My office. And R&D. And the chem and bio levels. _

_ And my lab. _

_ And the top few levels. _

He really should stop lying. He didn’t want to lie to anyone. And he especially didn’t want to lie to Flash.

That was no way to start a relationship.

“Peter Parker?”

Ella called his name next, and he bounded over, leaving Flash in the seat.

He grabbed his ID card. It was different then the other ones she held. It was rimmed in blue, instead of clear. Underneath his name, it said  _ intern. _

She held the other end of it, and he glanced up, meeting her eyes. “Take the top right hand of everything,” she mumbled, lips barely moving. She was still smiling like she had for the others.

Peter thanked her, like MJ had done; like she hadn’t said anything other than,  _ here you go kid. _

His hand got an inch away from the keypad, when the door slid upwards, and a jacket was hanging there. He pulled it on, and stuck his ID on the rectangle magnet, just above where a right breast pocket would have been.

FRIDAY would already have his jacket ready.

He got to the phone cases, grabbed the top right-hand case. He hesitated over the black charger-looking pieces. They were separated into different types of phones along the very bottom edge, in little dips.

There was no top right corner, but there was a small dip on the very right edge, with almost like a collection of random pieces. MJ had been called first. They didn’t have the same type of phone, so it would make sense that they would have a modified piece knowing that MJ wouldn’t take it.

Sucking in a small breath he pulled out the only SiPhone piece in the right most dip.

He grabbed a pair of glasses, and then the Ear-Comms. Up close they looked like expensive plastic, and along the bottom edge were ear buds in little plastic baggies. He grabbed the set on the very right edge, and in the top right corner.

He sat back down next to MJ, who was already wearing all of her items. She had a faraway look in her eye, and he dimly realised that she must have been talking to the glasses.

Now curious and wondering if he looked like that when he talked to FRIDAY when he was wearing his glasses, quickly slipped them on.

_ Hello, student,  _ appeared on the lenses. A keypad appeared on the screen, with instructions above it.  _ Type in your name, and identification number (found on the identification card). _

Happy had told him when the glasses asked for his id number, type in whatever FRIDAY had been calling him the day before.

Staring at the keyboard, a small red dot appeared over the letters. Moving his eyes in quick movements, the red dot moved one square at a time over towards the  _ K.  _ He blinked when the letter was highlighted, and as quick as he could, typed in the rest of the name.

Once  _ Kiddie McHackerson  _ was written above the keyboard, he clicked enter. The lenses turned clear, before blue slowly faded in.

_ Hello, Kiddo,  _ appeared in red on his screen.  _ Your Ear-Comms are equipped with all the functionality of your own personal set.  _ He glanced down at the Ear-Comms still in his hand, and sure enough they already had ear buds.

They must have been nanites because they weren’t there when he grabbed the set before.

Before anyone could notice, he shoved them on, and put the earbuds still in their baggy, into his inside pocket.

The nanites clicked as they moulded to his ear canal.

“Hello, Peter,” FRIDAY said.

Peter glanced around and saw that while he had been busy with his own glasses, everyone else was already wearing their full set. He quickly glanced behind him, and even Lucas was wearing his own. Everyone must have been having their own conversation because they too were mumbling underneath their breath.

“Hey, FRI,” he whispered, just in case.

“Don’t worry, Peter. You can speak normally. All of our conversations are muted by the Ear-Comms of all of your fellow students, and fellow employees.”

“So, this is what everyone was working on while they forced me to do schoolwork.”

“ _ Oi, kiddo. School work is very important, _ ” another voice said.

Peter grinned. “Hey, Tony.”

“ _ So, how do you like your new digs? I designed them myself.” _

He snorted. “Hey FRIDAY, can you make this a video call?”

On the blue lenses, a rectangle appeared, and in it was Tony Stark himself. Half of his face was covered in oil smudges. On the same side, his hair was sticking upright, almost like he had slept on it.

“That’s not what,  _ new digs  _ means Tony.”

“ _ It can mean whatever I want it to mean, I own the building you’re in, and everything you just got. I designed it all too.” _

Peter rolled his eyes. Tony scoffed, muttered something about today’s youth not respecting their elders.

“I know for a fact that I designed the Ear-Comms, and that Holly’s daughter designed the jackets.”

_ “Maybe I secretly implanted the idea in Holly’s mind, and her daughter picked up on it.” _

“Do you even know who Holly is?”

_ “Yep.” _

Peter waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

“She works in HR. Her daughter drew a picture of an iron man suit with a black body and purple arms. You liked it, changed the purple to red, and then gave them to your interns.”

_ “Okay well, now I need to credit Holly’s daughter whenever people ask me about the jackets. Thanks for the info, kiddo.” _

“You’re most welcome. And I designed the Ear-Comms.”

_ “Aren’t you busy, kid?”  _ he asked, not responding to Peter's claim. “ _ With the tour thing?” _

He glanced over at Ella, and flinched when he realised she was talking. The Ear-Comms had completely blocked her out.

At some point she had donned hers. They were made of clear plastic, the wires and metal pieces that made up the inner workings on full display.

“I’ll see you later, Tony. I’m slightly missing out on some probably important stuff.”

“ _ See you later, kiddo. Oh, and happy birthday.” _

Tony signed off before Peter could thank him. That did not sit well with Peter. Not because it would have been considered rude, but because Tony’s background looked far too much like his lab at the Tower.

And it was Friday.

Tony wasn’t at the tower on Friday.

It just didn’t happen.

“Hey FRIDAY,” he said. “Why is Tony at the Tower?”

“Classified.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and mockingly said, “Ha, ha. Very funny FRI. Why is Tony at the Tower?”

“Classified.”

He frowned, brow pinching and shifting his glasses. “Are you really not going to tell me? Override: Code  _ Overkill J6695.” _

FRIDAY did not reply. Instead what did pop up was a message from Tony, asking Peter to stop trying to turn his AI against him.

It wasn’t Peter’s fault he knew the override codes and had voice command. If anything, it was Tony’s fault. He was the one that gave Peter his privileges; it was his fault Peter abused them. 

Deciding that paying attention was possibly more important than finding out why Tony was in the building on a Friday, he asked FRIDAY to catch him up on what Ella was saying.

“Of course, Peter.”

Great,  _ now  _ she was being cooperative.

They appeared in little dot points on the still blue tinged screen. Slowly her voice began to filter in, just enough that Peter would know when she told them to start moving or asked him a question.

  * _In the case of an emergency, glasses and Ear-Comms will provide safe passage to all emergency assembly areas_
  * _Once the ID cards are three feet away from any outside entrance they will be automatically deactivated until inside the Avengers Compound_
  * _For the duration of the tour, and the duration of your stay at the Compound, the glasses and Ear-Comms will continue to function as normal._
  * _Outside of these premises they will act as normal sunglasses and earphones. At 6pm, Saturday, the glasses, Ear-Comms, and ID cards will be deactivated_



“Okay, so now that everything is out of the way, we can actually begin the tour,” Ella said. Around him, people shifted excitedly. Peter shifted nervously.

As they shuffled out of the room, he wondered what the first stop was. Maybe he should have been paying attention.

Ella pressed the elevator button twice in quick succession. The doors opened after only a few moments. Peter resisted the urge to scowl at the rectangle box he was walking into. Maybe this time it would move at a normal speed.

He nudged Flash with his elbow. “Where are we going?”

Flash smiled like he said something cute. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

Peter shrugged, and smiled like he was saying,  _ what did you expect? _

Flash rolled his eyes, scoffed, and nudged him right back. “We’re going to the museum first. Pay attention, Parker.”

The elevator began to ascend. Peter frowned and watched as Ella pressed her Ear-Comm and spoke into it. Keeping his face blank, he did the same.

“Happy requested the elevator speed to please slow down.”

“I don’t think he meant snail pace, FRI.”

Instead of FRIDAY’s voice, Peppers came through, clearly a recording. “ _ Tomorrow is an important day, okay FRIDAY. And Saturday as well. Peter has to be kept safe, and his identities private, okay? I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. TONY? DINNERS READY!” _

Peter was silent for a few moments.

“Peter, I’m detecting a rise in your blood pressure. Are you alright?”

Peter was sniffing back tears, but other than that he was fine. The second he saw Pepper he was hugging her, no matter who saw. He coughed into his elbow, cleared his throat. “Yeah I’m all good FRI.”

It took a solid thirty seconds for the elevator to descend one level. Peter did not mind the closeness to Flash. He did mind how close Lucas was.

The elevator opened, and Ella led them out onto the light wooden floor.

“Welcome, students,” she said, with a flourish. “To the Museum.”

Around him, he heard the other students gasp, and exclaim.

Along the first-floor families wandered around, pointing, and taking pictures of the exhibits. One family was posing in front of ancient Wakanda weapons. A few people with white Ear-Comms, and clear rimmed cards were hanging around a holographic table, moving the small figures around.

A few children were squealing and laughing and daring each other to grab the glowing rock on the pedestal. The game was in the corner. The ground below them was broken into squares, and randomly turned from red to black.

The mission was to steal the glowing rock before all of the black squares turned red. If you were on a square for longer than two seconds after it turned red, a hologram of one of the avengers would appear and tell them they were dead, and to try the mission again.

Peter had designed it. He was proud of it.

“Now,” Ella continued. “The Museum starts on Level One, and actually goes up four. See this,” she gestured to the rectangle hole in the ceiling. It took up only a small section of the ceiling. “It connects all of the levels.

“Now, the Museum starts on Level One, and actually goes up to Level Three. The Museum was moved to the Stark Tower after a theft attempt of the Museum of the City of New York. The only entrance through to the Museum on Level Two, is either the emergency exit, or through the security offices, hence why we came down to the bottom level. This Museum is free for those that wish, so once you get the chance, please bring in your families. There is nothing we at Stark Industries thrive off more than educating the people of today.

“Please, feel free to look around, take photos, videos, you name it. This is one of two areas that will allow public photos, so if you feel inclined, go ahead and take off the phone covers. Please don’t lose them, otherwise you will not be able to advance to the next stage of our tour.”

She glanced at her bare wrist, then, apparently remembering she wasn’t wearing a watch, asked them to please be at the third level of the museum by ten to ten.

The group scattered, leaving Betty, MJ, Peter, and Flash alone. Lucas glanced behind them, frowning at the group (at Peter) before getting dragged away by his new friends.

Peter glanced around at the group. “So,” he said slowly, dragging out the word. Maybe Flash wanted to go play with some Lego? Or there was probably a dark corner somewhere.

He made eye contact with MJ, then glanced at Flash, made eye contact with MJ again, and widened both his eyes.

Before she could do anything, he linked hands with Flash and dragged him away. Flash was laughing by the time he stopped on the opposite side of the Museum.

“Well you can never be too careful with MJ.”

Flash nodded sagely. “She is terrifying. If she were a supervillain the Avengers would have zero chance.”

Peter couldn’t help it.

“I reckon Spiderman would be able to.”

He really couldn’t. Flash gave him the perfect opportunity. Any chance to talk himself up he would take without hesitation.

Flash waved him off, then cocked his head to the side, and narrowed his eyes. “Actually, he might. Especially in that new suit of his.”

Peter beamed.

“He looks hot in it.”

Peter felt his smile slip into a frown.

“Maybe he could charm MJ away from taking away from the world.”

His frown turned into a scowl. His stomach rolled.

“Actually, you know what, if him, Black Window, and Valkyrie teamed up against her, she might swoon. Can MJ swoon? Like physically? I’ve never even seen her get faint. Hey are you okay?”

Instantly Peter schooled his features into something more pleasant. “Yes,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. It didn’t really work.

Flash’s features melted from concerned to confused to almost pleased. “My, my, Peter Parker. Are you jealous?”

Peter scoffed. “Of  _ MJ _ ? No,” he said with a shake of his head.

Flash laughed, and said around his laugh, “No, because I said Spiderman was hot.”

Peter did not reply at first.

Was it because the dark ball that was his stomach twisted the air from his lungs? Who knows.

Was it because he realised that the dark ball was jealousy? Not even Hawkeye would know, and he had more experience with kids than any of his family.

Or was it because some part of Flash thought Spiderman was hot?

He scowled, resisted the urge to say he was just as hot as Spiderman. “No,” he finally muttered underneath his breath.

Oh, god, he  _ was jealous of himself. _

Shuri was right, he did need therapy.

Flash appeared far too pleased with himself. He pointed at a screen on the wall beside them. They stopped in front of it. On either side of it were two Dora Milaje spears, both silver and pristine.

They were fake, but Peter only knew that because they played a game,  _ it is real? _

Shuri and Groot had both decided that the best way to test the spears was to hit them against something really tough. Peter had offered himself. One had broken very easily. They had then tested another spear. That one did not break as easily. He had bruises on his back for three days.

Both of the spears were then replaced with fakes. In fact, all of the weapons in the Museum had been replaced with fakes.

Apparently, they  _ nOw CoUlDn’T bE tRuStEd _ . 

The video started on the screen. It was an aerial tour of the vibranium caves. A voice beamed in through his Ear-Comms, words matching the subtitles on the screen.

He was thoroughly invested in the video when he felt something brush his knuckles. He froze and peeked at Flash. He was staring straight at the video, face concentrated on the screen like he was paying attention.

Brushing it off as an accident, he faced the screen when it happened again.

Quickly sucking in a breath, he brushed back.

The hand didn’t move, and carefully, he lifted his pinkie, and deliberately dragged it along Flashes knuckles.

He made to move his away, when suddenly, they were interlocked. Peter wriggled his hands and moved them into a more comfortable position.

A dark corner was looking really interesting right about now.

He turned and glared at MJ when she stopped on his left. He didn’t have to turn around to know Betty had stopped on Flash’s right. He stubbornly kept his hand locked with Flash’s.

MJ smirked, and very deliberately said, “Hey do you guys want to go check out the Avengers Tech stuff? It’s on the second level.”

Peter glared daggers at MJ’s shit eating grin. She knew  _ exactly  _ what she was doing.

“Um,” Flash made eye contact with Peter as he spoke. He jerked his head at the video playing, then widened his eyes, and tilted his lips just enough to give the shadow of a smile. “Where do  _ you  _ want to go, Peter?” he said carefully.

Betty hooked arms with Flash. “I agree with MJ.  _ We  _ should all go up to Level Two.”

MJ hooked arms with Peter. “Smart women,” she said to Betty, and started towards the escalators. This left Peter with two options. Use some strength he shouldn’t have, break away from MJ, sling Flash over his shoulders, and run to a dark corner, or live with his (former)friend’s betrayal, and get dragged around.

This left Peter with two options. Drag Flash behind him and make sure they kept holding hands until they could find a corner, or let go, and not break his fingers.

It was a tough decision, but ultimately it was the escalator that decided for him. Unfortunately holding hands with one person was hard when three steps and a multitude of people separated them. 

The first thing Peter saw when he stepped off the escalator was the back wall. It was lined with articles; photos and blogs and screenshots and newspapers – accounts of the New York Battle.

Spaced along the section of wall were six mannequins, each wearing a different suit of armour. They stood on black square stepping boxes. The close Peter got, the more in depth each of the articles became.

Around each mannequin were photos and stories of what they personally did.

Almost instantly Flash was in front of the mannequin wearing Nat’s old suit. The guns were plastic, and all weapons were replicas, but the suit was the original. It even had battle worn rips and creases.

Peter glanced down at Flash's hands, but not wanting to distract Flash away from his fun, he went past Nat to stop at Iron Man. It was not the original suit. Tony was far more sentimental than Nat.

If Peter hadn’t seen the original in Tony’s lab then he would have assumed it was right in front of him. It was covered in scratches and warped metal. Even the face mask was crumpled, like the Hulk had ripped it off to save his life.

He almost resisted the urge to brush his fingers over the metal. Almost.

The back of his neck tingled, and he spun around. There was nothing but normal families wandering around. He shook his head. Maybe he was going insane. Not one to brush off his senses, he stepped away from the mannequin, and only stopped when he reached the barrier, around the hole in the ground.

In the gap between the second and third level hung a Chitauri carriage, complete with a replica of a Chitauri warrior.

But across from him, on the other side of the level was a vaguely familiar shape. He narrowed his eyes, and the glasses automatically zoomed in and focused. Peter scowled when he realised it was Lucas.

He was glaring down at his phone and muttering underneath his breath, the only thing still on his body from Ella’s lecture was his SI jacket. 

Just as he was about to ask FRIDAY to repeat what he was saying, something caught his eye. He jerked his head backwards, and smirked when he recognised who had caught his attention. Maybe he could get that hug out now.

Turning, he saw Flash, MJ, and Betty hunched together and laughing over one of the exhibits. Smiling, he darted over the escalators, and with no one in front of him, he raced up.

This level was quieter, slightly darker, with dark carpets and dark walls.

Walls were erected in small segments, randomly spaced around, creating a labyrinth. Each segment was dedicated to History.

One was for Wakanda and their history.

Another was for Asgard, for Earth, for slavery, for Russia, for SHEILD, for feminism, for home planets destroyed.

It was an entire floor dedicated to History of the Avengers, how they came to protect the Earth, and what they stand for.

Peter was not here for that.

He was here for Pepper Potts, leading three men in tuxedos around the walls.

She saw him, and turned to the men, pointed at a few exhibits, and excused herself.

“Peter,” she said, smiling. She was wearing a dark navy blue sleeveless dress that stopped just above her knee, and her strawberry blond hair was loose – the very thing that had caught his eye from the floor below.

Before she could do anything, he wrapped his arms around her. She hesitated before hugging him back, just as tight. His glasses were digging into his cheeks weirdly, but he didn’t care.

They let go after a moment, just as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He brushed a hand over them, gave Pepper a wonky smile. He fixed his glasses.

“Not that I don’t love you, but what was that hug for?” she asked.

He shrugged. “FRIDAY told me what you said about today and tomorrow. I just,” he glanced down at his shoes and shrugged again. “I just wanted to hug you.”

Peppers hand rested against his cheek and tilted his head upright. They met eyes, and she smiled in a soft way. Almost without words saying just how much she loved him.

“Well, whenever you want a hug, I’ll be here for you, okay.”

He ignored the base of his spine as it tingled and nodded hastily. Pepper's hand fell from his cheek.

Behind the men, were peering at the articles. Maybe they were why his Spidey sense was going off?

Seeing his gaze, Pepper explained that they ran the Stark Industries branch in Europe.

“How long are they staying for?” he asked.

“Until next Wednesday.” She seemed resigned to the idea.

“So I guess I’ll meet them on Monday then?”

She nodded. “You’re taking them to MoMA.”

“Does that mean I get the day off?”

“You have a cold remember? You’ll need to leave early.”

He pressed his lips together. “My migraines get really bad when I have a cold. I might not even make it to Homeroom.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “You’ll make it to the fifth Period. MoMA is open until nine for you, with a private tour. Compliments of the CEO.”

Peter threw his hands in the air and sighed dramatically. “What’s the point of going home early then?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “You have a meeting, Peter. Would you like another hug before I go?” she asked, completely serious. It was, after all, a serious question following a very serious conversation. 

“Of course,” he replied back, just as serious.

They separated, and a voice said from behind them, “Peter?” Then; “Oh excuse me Ms. Potts, I am so sorry.”

Pepper smiled softly and turned to the voice. “It’s quite alright Mrs. Winters.”

Time passed quickly when he wasn’t paying attention.

“How is your tour going?” Pepper asked, the picture of grace. Which, really, was just the way she was.

“Oh wonderful. The kids are behaving perfectly. Although, there hasn’t really been a chance for them to misbehave.”

Apparently having finished small talk, Pepper said goodbye to both of them, and led the three businessmen into another part of the level.

“I wondered where you went off to,” Ella said. “But I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered if you had somehow gotten lost.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. “Bet ten bucks I could have figured out where you were going without asking FRIDAY.”

“Done.”

“…R&D, experimental labs.”

“Is direct deposit okay?” she said like she meant it.

“I’ll take it out of your pay,” he said back, completely dead faced.

A beat passed. Then two.

Peter was the first to laugh, Ella followed soon after.

He cut himself off as soon as he saw people come up over the escalators. MJ was ashen, and Flash was frowning down at his shoes.

The back of his neck began to burn. Lucas appeared far too pleased with himself.

MJ rushed over to him, latched into his arm and pulled him away from Ella.

He didn’t get a chance to say anything before MJ pulled him down and whispered into his ear. 

“Lucas got a photo of you and Pepper hugging.”

Peter choked on air.

“He got you and Flash holding hands as well. He’s already done something Peter. It looks like you and Pepper were hugging and holding hands.”

Peter felt himself pale, and without thinking he turned and stared at Lucas. He was wearing a cruel smirk.

“He said he’s going to release them and tell the newspapers you guys are sleeping together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles in four hours of sleep*  
> noowww...SUFFEERRRRR


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brain died  
> chapter happened  
> brain woke up and did not remember chapter  
> anyway  
> welcome to this one  
> oh an ten points and a name drop to the first three people who correctly guess the four Hamilton characters (  
> and the single dear evan hanson one) 
> 
> oh wait also, 7768 because adding another nine words is for suckers AND PEOPLE THAT DONT HAVE TO WAKE UP AS SIX AM TO GO SAY HI TO SHEEP FOR LIKE EIGHT HOURS EVERY DAY BECUASE THATS MY JOB AT LEAST THE PAYS GOOD

_ Lucas is going to die. _

At some point Peter must have been dragged into the elevator by MJ.

Betty seemed to be glaring daggers at Lucas. Flash seemed to be hiding next to Ella.

_ Lucas is going to die. He is going to get ripped apart and used as fertilizer.  _

MJ pulled him out when the elevator stopped. No one had stopped them yet; FRIDAY hadn’t told him anyone was looking for him. Somehow, Lucas had managed to keep everything he did a secret.

Sharp pain bloomed from his thigh, and he pulled in a sharp breath, not even having realised he had stopped breathing. MJ was pulling her hand away from his leg when he thanked her.

“Pay attention,” MJ said. “If…” she didn’t say anything. Just opened her eyes comically wide and glanced around the entire room. She meant FRIDAY then. “…figures out the puzzle, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

Distantly, Peter realised she was right. If FRIDAY figured out what Lucas was threatening to do, he would be dead. MJ would probably be okay with it; she knew Peter would never be.

Peter had always said MJ was smarter than him. MJ mimed breathing in deeply, and letting it go. Peter copied her. Not wanting to have a panic attack, he played attention to Ella.

Ella let them out into the long hallway. On one side were tinted windows looking out at the building’s opposite, and on the other was a long glass wall, behind which a room held around ten tables, and people twisting their hands over them - maneuvering the holograms hidden by the glass. 

“Alright guys, welcome to our Research and Development department. This is our research department, where our interns – the people in this room – use our holographic tables to design something. Contrary to popular belief, our interns are not allowed to run wild and do whatever they want.”

The room was bright and open, so one could almost be forgiven for not noticing the doors at the very back that lead to the confidential section of the level. 

Only interns who had finished their PhD’s, and were applying for permanent position in the company could enter. 

“Two or three are assigned to one of our employees – who we affectionately call  _ Guardians.  _ These Guardians will then assign them jobs for three months, and at the end, those interns can decide if they want to move on to another Guardian, or stay with their current one.

“The tables are all holographic,” Ella continued, stopping outside a set of automatic double doors. “And see this wall? This is actually made of the same technology as your glasses, so people coming through the hallway can’t actually see the holograms above the tables. Our regular tours just observe from the outside, and an intern will often come and out and speak on behalf of the department. You guys are special. You guys get to go inside. Please remember – yes, it is exciting. Please remember to keep your glasses, Ear-Comms, phone cases, and charger pieces in at all times. Before we go any further, does anyone have any questions.”

Peters hand shot into the air without him even realising. “Can I go to the bathroom?” he blurted out.

Ella’s brow pinched, but she nodded.

Peter sped back towards the elevator. Vaguely, he heard MJ ask, and without waiting for a reply, run after him. 

He took a right at the elevators, and right next to them was the disabled toilet.

He fell into the bathroom, planted his back against the wall. 

Ripping off his glasses and Ear-Comms, he tore open his bag, and stuffed them inside, making sure that the suit wrapped around them. 

MJ slipped behind him and locked the door. He shoved his Spidey suit into his bag.

While MJ was still facing the door, he pressed a hand on her shoulder and kept her still. Slowly he reached up, plucked off her glasses and Ear-Comms, and pulled her phone from her pocket. He stuffed them into his bag too, then wrapped MJ into a comforting hug.

She hugged him back just as tight. Tighter even.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his neck. She sniffled, and Peter realised she was crying.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said back. “You didn’t take those photos.”

She hiccupped. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just froze. He was walking backwards, and like, bowled us over. My glasses fell off. He showed me the photo, in like this photoshop app. I didn’t do anything. He got rid of it before I thought about doing something. I’m so, so sorry Peter.”

“It’s okay, MJ.”

Oddly enough it was. Peter had only ever seen MJ cry once. They had been watching  _ Marley and Me  _ and Marley had just died. Seeing MJ cry now calmed him down, made him focus on something other than himself. Now maybe he could figure out what to do.

She sniffed and hiccupped a few more times, before letting go. Peter reached over and pulled out a few of the paper towels from the dispenser.

MJ turned around, faced the door. She dabbed at her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath, held it for a couple seconds, and then slowly let it out. When she turned back, her eyes were clear, and the only evidence of her tears were damp lashes. 

“So,” she said. “What are we going to do about this?”

Peter huffed and fell onto the open toilet seat.

“That’s disgusting,” she noted.

“My life is hell right now, MJ. Putting the toilet lid down to sit on it was too much work.”

“It’s still gross.” She sat down with her back against the door, letting her head fall backwards. She held up one fist, and said, “Solidarity.”

Peter snorted. “With what? Sitting down in a public bathroom?”

“Obviously.”

It was quiet for a few moments. Peter heard his phone ping from his bag. He must have gotten a message. The Spidey suit would stop FRIDAY from using the technology inside from listening to Peter and MJ. Just like with the sensors and the security guards, MJ was technically a civilian.

“Who else knows? What he said, I mean,” Peter asked, finally. He tilted his head back and glared at the ceiling.

MJ seemed to think about it for a moment. “Flash saw the photos, I think. Betty was, like, right behind me when he was talking. I don’t know if she heard what he said though. He was kinda quiet about it.”

“What did he say exactly?” Maybe FRIDAY heard something.

“He, um, showed me you and Pepper holding hands – the one he photoshopped together – in the background of a photo of the Chitauri carriage thing.” She frowned like she was concentrating, trying to remember. “He like, got out of the app after getting rid of the photo, and then showed me you and Pepper. It looked like he was taking a selfie, but then he zoomed in at the top, and you and Pepper were hugging.”

“What did he say though? Like, exactly.”

“It was like, ‘you know  _ Buzzfeed _ ? What do you think they would do if they found out what Potts was doing with a minor’.”

Peter laughed. He couldn’t help it. MJ scowled, pulled off her shoe and threw it at him. He caught it without taking his eyes off the ceiling and tossed it back.

“How am I more stressed than you?”

Peter leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “I’m honestly so panicked right now, that everything kinda feels normal, you know?”

“We can’t let anyone else know,” he said, after a few seconds. They had already been in here too long. They had to leave soon, otherwise it would be suspicious. “ _Especially_ _Buzzfeed_.”

“Fucking  _ Buzzfeed _ . Only good part is  _ Buzzfeed Unsolved. _

“Fucking Roger. The New Yorker shouldn’t exist, and their writers are idiots,” MJ decided with a sharp nod.

“Fucking  _ Buzzfeed _ . If it weren’t for  _ Unsolved  _ and  _ Worth It,  _ I would have ditched years ago.”

Peter tried to say he agreed, but instead what came out was, “I need to get Lucas alone.”

“Should you tell anyone? I mean, like one of your extended family?” she clarified.

Peter thought about it for a moment. “If I tell one, they’ll all know. If they all know, then Lucas will be dismembered and each off his limbs will probably be left on a separate planet at each corner of the universe.”

“I would ask if you were exaggerating, but I saw what Gamora did to that one robber.”

Peter had been getting coffee with MJ and Ned. A robber had come into the café. They had only been back from space for a week. His newest family members were still feeling a tad protective. Gamora did not take well to the robber trying to hurt a member of her family.

The robber did not make it out with all of his limbs attached.

Ned had been too scared to close his eyes and fainted as soon as the action started. MJ had closed her eyes and assumed whatever she did was terrifying. So, no, she hadn’t  _ seen  _ what Gamora did, but she certainly  _ heard  _ it.

That was one example of what would happen to Lucas if somehow, they found out. And Peter hadn’t even been the target of the robber.

The robber lost a leg, but at least he was alive.

“Shuri,” he said suddenly. “I have to tell Shuri.”

“Why her?”

“I don’t know, I’m trying to think of someone else who might understand the need for secrecy. She’s a teenager too.”

“When you see her, tell her I said this is a bad idea not to tell anyone. Oh, and Peter? This is a bad idea not to tell anyone. Also, why don’t you just get FRIDAY to delete the picture?”

“What if someone is scrolling through her previous commands list, and sees me asking her to delete a picture of someone’s phone, and then they ask her what the pictures were, and then ask questions, and I can’t lie to them, MJ. I tried. I swear over half of them made their living through lying. If they find out what Lucas is trying to do, they will destroy him. I can’t let that happen.”

“I understand your choice, I support it, but I don’t agree.”

Peter huffed, stood up, and handed MJ her glasses, Ear-Comms, and phone. Only when they left the bathroom did they put their glasses and Comms back on. He fiddled with the watch and kimoyo beads, before pulling on his backpack.

“Do I look amazing?” MJ asked.

“Always. What about me?” Peter did a spin.

“Maybe a little stressed.”

“My constant state.”

Ella was waiting outside of the double doors alone. She turned around when they walked up, face pinched with worry.

“Are you okay, Peter? You seemed kind of pale when you went to the bathroom?” She was biting her lip, and glancing between MJ and Peter.

“Yeah I’m fine. I just got a little anxious about the interns and if they might say anything, so I talked to FRIDAY for a second about it,” he said calmly, like it was the truth.

Ella coughed when he said he talked to FRIDAY, widened her eyes comically, and tilted her head. Peter remembered MJ wasn’t technically supposed to know.

He waved a hand. It was too late to back out now. “She knows.”

MJ held up the peace sign and nodded at Ella.

Ella opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then closed it with a sigh. “Okay,” she said after a beat. “Anyone else I should know about?”

Peter wanted to reply honestly; to say Ned, but Ella didn’t have high enough clearance. Unless she met Ned, and Peter said that he knew, it was safer if she had no idea. MJ he could do nothing about.

She shook her head, cleared her throat. “Okay so, a few interns came out, and broke them up into groups. They explained what they do. Peter, you have Emily. You guys know each other, so there’s no security threat.” She glanced uneasily at MJ but continued anyway. “All interns are instructed to know you as Peter B. Parker and pretend like they only have a vague understanding of who you are. The employees working today know you as Peter B. Parker as well, and know your face, and nothing else.”

She turned around and scanned her card. The doors opened, and they entered.

Beside him, MJ gasped.

He didn’t blame her. In its own way it was quite pretty.

Blue holograms appeared over every table. Some looked like phones. Others looked like limbs broken up and split into its many parts. One looked like a Rubik's Cube but instead of nine squares on each side, there were twelve. Another looked like a laptop. The intern standing at that table was talking to Flash and Betty. He waved his hands, and the laptop split into pieces.

“Holy shit, Peter,” MJ gasped. “You work _ here _ ?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I mean – why are you so shocked. You know this, MJ. This is a known fact to you.”

“It’s  _ awesome  _ Peter.  _ Why have you never brought me here _ ?”

“It’s illegal, MJ.  _ You know this.” _

Emily, having seen them, rushed over, and shook both of their hands. “Hi,” she pointedly glanced down at each of their ID’s. “Peter, Michelle, nice to meet you. I’m Emily. Come over here, we don’t have a lot of time, don’t worry though. It’ll all work out.”

They stopped at a rectangular table. Around the edge there was a foot-long rim of light wood, where laptops and notebooks could be rested. When the foot-long rim ended, there was a two-inch drop. The floor of the drop was a dark blue glass screen. On each corner of the wooden rim, there was a small white square.

To MJ it would have looked completely white, because of the glasses. To Peter it simply looked like an SiPad that had been embedded into the table. Right now, it showed a to-do list. None of the ten items had been crossed off yet.

On the other side of the table were two people who Peter knew.

Jackson was staring down at a notebook filled with notes, biting at his lip. His stubble was carved out perfectly, and he must have gone up a prescription because his glasses were an inch thick. Next to him was Blake, typing furiously at their laptop, hair pulled back sharply from their head. It was a male day then. He was scowling at his laptop, eye bags taking up half of his face, but that was normal. They both glanced up when Peter and MJ stopped either side of Emily, on the other side of the table.

Simultaneously they glanced from Peter to MJ, back to Peter, exchanged a  _ look _ , said “Hey Peter”, before they both went back to what they were doing. 

MJ looked like she had seen the best thing ever, Emily ignored them, and Peter nodded like it was normal. It was. They had been dating for four years and were the only couple he had ever met that truly embodied the  _ old married couple  _ stereotype.

Emily waved her hands over the table, and small dark blue balls suspended in light blue light appeared.

MJ gasped as Emily continued waving her hands. The balls gathered together and morphed into an SiPhone. It was the newly released addition.

“So,” Emily began. “This is the SiPhone. We already have the blueprints,” she waved her hands in a complicated way. The phone moved to the side, and next to it appeared the pieces of the phone broken into pieces. “But whenever our engineers have tried to combine them, the pieces don’t fit properly. Our task today is to figure out how to fit them together. We have,” she tapped on the small white screen, and a timer appeared at the bottom right hand of the hologram. “Forty-six minutes left to complete the task.”

Immediately MJ stuck her hands in the air and began waving them. Emily gave her a few pointers while laughing about how to manage the holograms.

Peter had already done this project. So, to alleviate some of the panic that was no longer being distracted, he went around the table, and peaked over Blake’s shoulder.

“Watcha doin’?” he asked.

Blake finished the sentence he was writing and leaned backwards on his stool as far as he could.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Peter snorted. “You’ve written twenty-six thousand words.”

“That’s not my problem. Ask him what’s happening, I’m just listening to him.”

Jackson wacked Blake’s bicep. To Peter he said, “Our bio-chemistry class has a ten-thousand-word paper due next week, and our exams are in three weeks. We haven’t finished the paper, and haven’t started revising, so we made the executive decision to do everything at the same time.”

Then, to Blake, “You said I could choose whatever subject I wanted for our project. It’s not my fault you were running on three hours of sleep over forty-eight hours.”

“You love me. It’s your job to keep my sleep schedule somewhat healthy,” Blake said, already scowling, his arms crossed.

“I fed you sleeping pills in a muffin. There was enough to put me to sleep. I’m six foot. You are five seven. They should have killed you, and yet you are still awake. Do not blame me for your issues, darling.”

Peter whistled. “I’m not going to lie, that’s kind of awesome.”

Blake donned a smug expression, and Jackson rolled his eyes.

“We’re leaving as soon as Mi-”

Jackson was interrupted by Blake sneezing.

He huffed and started again. “We are leaving as soon as  _ Peter  _ and his friends are gone. And you know what’s going to happen?”

Blake scowled, and mumbled something underneath his breath.

Jackson held up a hand around his ears, like he was trying to hear something far away. “What was that?”

“We’re going to sleep,” Blake said louder.

“Good job, darling. But actually, we’re going to the clinic upstairs to see how many sleeping pills are too many, and maybe get your stomach pumped.”

“I’ll be probably okay.”

Peter snorted. He always said that.

Jackson nodded, and pointed at Peter when he snorted. “Even he doesn’t think you’ll be okay. Peter, do you know what he’s eaten today?”

He did not.

“He, Peter, has eaten nothing. The last time I saw him consume something was yesterday at three. Honestly, the only reason we’re here is for you, kid. Be grateful,” Jackson said. It sounded like it could have been malicious, but Peter had known these two for so long he knew they were kidding.

_ I will not cry. It doesn’t matter how sweet it is they’re here for me. _

“Always,” he managed to say.

_ I will not cry. _

Peter was distracted from his emotions when he heard his name called.

He turned away from Blake and Jackson arguing over the safe amount of food that must be consumed every day for a healthy life. Ella was waving at him. He held up a hand, and mouthed,  _ one second. _

He rounded the table and told Emily he would be right back, and asked if she could watch his backpack. MJ didn’t acknowledge him; too busy playing Tetris with the SiPhone components.

Lucas was standing behind Ella, his arms crossed and smug.

“Peter, Lucas was wondering if you could please take him to the bathroom. I just don’t want him to get lost.” She took a half step closer to him and said just quiet enough that Lucas wouldn’t hear. “Don’t let him go snooping through the office, okay?”

Maybe he could get Lucas alone quicker than he thought.

Lucas gestured for him to lead the way.

Peter led him out of the hallway and back down to the elevators. “Were you fine with the disable bathroom, or did you want to go to the regular ones?” he asked.

“Normal ones.”

His voice was tight, like he was trying to hold back a laugh. 

Turning right at the elevator, he confidently followed the wall. The hallway cut off the view of the labs, these walls made of plaster painted navy blue, not glass.

Peter passed closed office doors and storage rooms. On the left was a door with a small black outline of a man. On the opposite side was a door with a small black outline of a woman. He went in through the door on the left.

Inside it was a pretty standard locker room. The walls were a stark white, but the lights were dim enough that they almost looked blue. The floor was a dark grey linoleum.

In front of Peter there was a wall of light grey lockers. The other walls were lined with wooden benches. On the left of the back wall, next to the lockers, there was a door. On it was a sign that said all guests must remove all technology before entering.

Peter hesitated when he saw the sign, unsure if he wanted to risk FRIDAY having a recording of the conversation, or if it was worth it to get some privacy but have Lucas be even more suspicious about his internship.

In the end, when Lucas tried the door and it wouldn’t budge, it was decided for him.

He chose a random locker, and tossed his items in. When he closed it, the small keypad next to the handle glowed around the edges. On one side of the zero there was a red key, and on the other side it was green.

Right next to it, it said in small writing,  _ To set PIN, hold down green key up to five seconds or until beep, enter PIN, hold the green key up to five seconds or until beep. After items have been removed from the locker, press the red button, enter PIN, and hold the red button up to five seconds or until beep. _

FRIDAY was in nearly every single bit of technology and code in the building. He guaranteed that in any room in the building, if he asked her to do something, she would do it.

The only exception to this rule was the bathrooms. There was a strict no video/audio recording policy in every bathroom in the building. He bit his lip and punched in  _ 7747. _

_ SPDR _

He followed Lucas where he had disappeared into the bathroom. The door hadn’t even closed fully when the hairs on his arms stood on end, and Lucas was there, shoving him against the door.

Peter could have stopped him, easily, but he let himself be pushed back, even let his head wack against the door.

Lucas planted both of his hands either side of his Peter’s head and smiled dangerously.

“ _ I know your secret…”  _ he sang, slowly.

Sure, he did. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Then he chided himself. This was supposed to be a serious discussion. Honestly though, sometimes people made it too easy.

It was like a switch had been flicked in his brain. When it was just him and MJ freaking out it was fine to panic. He had been in a safe place.

But Lucas wasn’t a friend; being around him in an emotional state was not safe. He had to stay cool and calm, like he was dealing with an armed robber.

“My secret?” Peter asked, playing dumb. Not very cool and calm, but he was sure he would get better as the conversation went on.

“Oooh… _ yes _ . Listen, I didn’t know what I had taken a picture of at first. I was just trying to get a picture of that Chitauri thing, and then you were in the background, and I was mad because, no offence, but any photo with you is garbage in my book.”

Peter scoffed. “Offense taken.”

Lucas ignored him. “But then you were acting weird, and I saw you run up the escalator, all the way up to Pepper Potts. We were just trying to get a selfie together, you know? And I saw Pepper in the background, and I was like this is going to be awesome. And then you hugged her, and I thought this is getting weird, so I took another selfie.”

He leaned in closer, and stared Peter dead in the eyes with a cruel smirk. “And then she hugged you back. And when you separated, she patted your cheek, and only moved away when Ella was there. You know what that means, Peter?”

“That I’m her intern and she knows who I am?”

Apparently, this was not the correct answer, as Lucas snorted. “No, Peter. It means something far more nefarious is happening. I want to help you.”

Somehow, Peter did not believe him.

“Pepper Potts sleeping with an underage student? Just imagine what would happen if the internet got a hold of that, huh? I don’t know how you guys met; I don’t care. But listen carefully, in order to get you the help you need, I’m going to need you to get me an interview with her. Okay? Now, now, don’t be hasty with your answer. Really think about it,” he stepped back, folded his arms and bit his lip, his eyes dancing with delight.

Peter was frozen. Somehow, Lucas had gone from stupid to insane. If he wanted to make it to Monday, he was going to have to play along. He would figure out what to do when he talked to Shuri.

Lucas seemed to be waiting for an answer, so Peter nodded hastily.

Lucas grinned widely, pronounced the situation great, and steered Peter out into the locker room.

Peter was about to punch in his numbers, when Lucas said, almost offhandedly, “It’s kinda nice not to be the only faking an internship.”

“ _ What?” _

Lucas nodded at the locker, then at the sign on the door. “Only guests have to use these, remember.”

Lucas quickly punched in his pin and left.

_ Okay, I just have to last until Monday. _

_ Monday. _

_ It's Friday today, tomorrow is Saturday, and then only Sunday to go, until Monday. _

Somehow, Monday seemed like it was years away.

He could do this. Carefully he punched in his pin. It opened, and he slowly pulled on his gear.

When he left the locker room, Lucas was waiting for him, using the wall to hold himself up. He gestured for Peter to the lead the way, and he did, somewhat reluctantly.

They made it back to the lab in one piece.

MJ was still sorting through the pieces, and the timer said she had thirty-five minutes left to complete her task.

It had felt he had been gone for far longer than that.

Someone tapped his shoulder, and spun around. Three seconds ago smiling felt impossible, but one crept onto his face like water over a waterfall. 

“Amanda,” he exclaimed.

“Peter,” she said back, like she couldn’t believe what she was calling him.

“Your hair is looking extra high today,” he noted.

Normally her midnight blue hair was piled on top of her head in a smooth wave, that curved back along her skull, the sides of her head shaved. Today it was standing upright and teased forward.

“Why thank you, brother.” She curtsied, her black jeans creaking at the knees as she did so.

He bowed back, and they laughed. He had missed Amanda; it had been far too long since they had hung out.

Amanda seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she asked when he was next free.

“Um, Monday, I think. Sunday, my family is celebrating my birthday.”

His life seemed to be revolving around that day it seemed.

“Shit, man.” She punched his arm. “Happy birthday. You’re officially old now.”

“Ugh, it’s just the worst.”

She rolled her eyes, and asked Emily if she needed him. She said no, and Amanda dragged him over to her table. The hologram was playing  _ Mulan,  _ in varying shades of blue. Since MJ hadn’t commented on her favourite movie playing, the others must not be able to see it.

Jared and Pegs were sitting on the other side.

Pegs’ long curly brown hair was braided back and hanging over their right shoulder. They were wearing a maroon jumpsuit that didn’t look like pyjamas, but definitely were. Peter knew that for a fact because Pegs bragged about it whenever they wore them. Their eyeliner was sharp enough to cut someone, and their lashes were almost large enough to use as a sail.

Jared, in comparison, was wearing black sunglasses and a red beanie, looked slightly ashy like he hadn’t moisturised, had a wet patch on his t-shirt, and grunted when Peter said hi.

“Mini-T,” Pegs said with a slight nod, having deemed that none of his classmates close enough to overhear, then went back to watching  _ Mulan. _

“Is this allowed?” Peter asked, gesturing at the movie playing.

“No,” Amanda said without hesitation.

“Not at all,” Pegs said.

Jared grunted. Peter assumed he meant  _ no _ as well.

“Guess what, guys,” Amanda said, smirking at the people opposite. Neither of them guessed but they did both glance at her. Or at least, he assumed Jared did. He couldn’t really see any part of his eyes, and the only thing his mouth had done was occasionally yawn.

“It’s Mini-T’s birthday soon.”

Pegs whistled and raised both of their eyebrows. “Getting old, are you?”

Peter shrugged and admitted that it was technically his birthday today.

Amanda wrapped him in a hug, and quickly let go when she realised, she shouldn’t be doing that.

The back of his neck burned, and he quickly looked over his shoulder, only to see Flash glaring at his table like it had insulted his mother.

Peter frowned. He wondered what that was about.

Pegs raised an eyebrow when he turned back, and he rolled his eyes at them.

“They’re right,” Amanda chimed in, as she quickly tapped on the white screen.

“About what?”

“He likes you.”

Peter tried to scoff, like what they were thinking was insane. What he did instead was choke, and cough into his elbow for at least a minute. When he finally managed to breath normally, the happy birthday song appeared in writing on the hologram, and they were quietly singing it to him. Even Jared was mumbling the words.

His cheeks burned, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading.

He loved his friends.

When the song was finished,  _ Mulan  _ appeared again.

Amanda slapped his back. “We’re definitely going out tonight.”

Jared swayed on his stool and pressed a hand to his stomach.

“I’m busy until Monday,” he explained. He was only seventeen. He couldn’t drink quite yet. Maybe he could bargain his way down to a nice dinner?

“Monday night then,” she said.

He shrugged and hummed non committedly.

Jared stood up from his stool and held onto the table as he swayed. “I’m going to vomit,” he announced. Pegs wished him luck.

“Big night?” Peter wondered aloud.

Amanda nodded sagely, and saluted Jared’s back as he stumbled out of the double doors.

“He was avoiding  _ Doctor Who  _ until over half of the episodes were released,” Pegs explained. “He was so excited for a female Doctor he got drunk, watched all of the episodes available, and then was so disappointed with the series he drank some more.”

“Said he woke up without a top on, on the roof of his apartment building. The last thing he remembered was going  _ down  _ the stairs, and buying Cheetos at the kiosk across the road,” Amanda added.

Pegs waved a hand. “We’ve all been there. Besides, I don’t know what he was so upset about. I loved the new season.”

Peter had no comment on the matter. He had stopped watching after the  _ Husbands of River Song.  _ His reasoning was it was better to end on a high note. Knowing that River and the Doctor spent twenty four years together was good enough for him.

After agreeing to disagree about the new season, they watched  _ Mulan  _ in silence. At some point, Jared made it back with a single Venti caramel Frappuccino, with extra whipped cream.

In the corner of his glasses, a small exclamation point popped up. It wiggled, then across his lenses, ‘ _ Ella requests that all students please make their way to the entrance as soon as possible’  _ appeared in bold lettering.

Peter quickly looked around to make sure he wasn’t running late – luckily, it seemed that his year level mates were still conversing with the interns they were given to.

Just before he left, he remembered that Jared was supposed to be giving the introduction down at the practical level and asked him if he was coming down.

Jared slowly reached up and slipped his glasses down his nose. His eyes were red rimmed, and a blood vessel had burst in his right.

“My guy,” he said, slow like every word was effort. “Getting off this seat equals vomiting. I found a replacement.”

Pegs snorted, and wacked his shoulder. “He’s lying. We were supposed to spend this hour helping him become slightly more human, but Amanda put on the movie so we decided we would try when you guys left. That reminds me, we have to go get you dressed.”

Peter chuckles, and wished them luck, before saying he would see them later.

Jared gave him another peace sign, Pegs nodded in Flash’s direction and wiggled her eyebrows, and Amanda let him go with the promise of coffee on Monday if he didn’t want to drink.

He tried not to scowl when he saw Lucas. MJ had no such restraint. Flash was scowling at nothing. Peter tried to catch his eyes, but Flash seemed to be stubbornly avoiding his gaze.

“Wonderful,” Ella said when they had all stopped in front of her. “Now, as a perfect follow up to the theoretical level of the R&D labs, we’re now going down to the practical level.”

They left the lab and made their way down to the elevator. Peter frowned, MJ glared, and Flash scowled at nothing for the entire walk.

Only when the elevator doors closed did Flash nudge Peter and ask who he was talking to.

Peter blinked. That was what he was mad about. Unless…

“Amanda. Flash…a-. Hmm, are you  _ jealous.” _

Flash’s scowl became even more venomous. “No,” he spat.

Peter smirked, and a sense of complete and utter satisfaction flooded into his veins. “You so  _ are.” _

Flash rolled his eyes, and mumbled something Peter chose not to listen to, solely based on the fact that it sounded like denial.

They left the elevator, and Peter leaned close to whisper into Flash’s ear. “What you’re doing is a river in Egypt.”

Flash’s face morphed from a scowl to completely confused. “ _ What?” _

“De Nile,” Peter said with a shit eating grin.

Flash rolled his eyes. “I’m not in denial, Parker.”

“You,” he said, poking his side. “Are so far in denial that you're practically swimming.”

“I’ve never heard you make that sort of joke before,” MJ noted from beside Peter.

Flash shook his head. “I didn’t like it.”

“You guys are being mean.”

Peter liked to think they didn’t reply because they were suffering from third degree burns, and not because the labs had come into view.

Unlike the theoretical labs which looked organised but were truly chaos, the practical labs were chaos, both in looks and in reality.

From one side of the labs to the other were power cords, clustered and most of them were taped down. A few looked like they were in the process.

Interns and scientists were talking with wide gestures, and middle fingers were thorough in use in the room. 

Ella turned to them, before the clear glass double doors.

“So, this level is a touch more dangerous than the theoretical one. Most of what’s happening in the main room is nonexplosive, and therefore safe for us to walk through, but because of the unpredictability of the room, we will only be quickly walking through. What we will be seeing is actually in the explosion proof rooms on the other side of the main room. Everyone, please keep close together, and I must warn you, these rooms often have people of…let’s say higher clearance.”

Peter did not like the sound of that. At all. To him, it sounded extremely suspicious.

The phrase itself wasn’t too dangerous. People with  _ higher clearance  _ meant the Heads of Department and up.

If it was just a Head, then Ella probably wouldn’t have said anything, rightfully assuming that the students in front of her wouldn’t have recognised them.

_ But  _ she did mention it.

It could have been nothing. Something told Peter it wasn’t nothing.

Something told him it was his family.

That meant the Avengers.

The last time any of them had been in the R&D, it was because they wanted to see what Peter deemed more important than playing  _ Mario Kart. _

If someone from home was here, it meant they were here for Peter. To make sure he was okay, and make sure he was feeling safe, as subtly as they could without catching him alone, and making sure no one spotted them.

This did not bode well.

Why they didn’t just catch him alone he doubted he would ever know.

“I urge you to please try not to stare. The only reason they will be in here is for work. Okay? Awesome.” She waited for all of them to nod. “Now remember, just the same as before, please scan your ID cards, and wait for the red circle to turn green.”

Peter and MJ shared a glance. They hadn’t done that before. FRIDAY must have recognised Peter and let him through. He would have to connect to her at some point and deal with it.

Right now, he was more focused on seeing who deemed it important enough to invade Peter’s field trip, and also making sure Lucas didn’t do something completely stupid.

Peter unlatched his card from its magnet and held it stiffly. Someone went first, and as the doors opened noise flooded over the group. Peter flinched. The Ear-Comms did their job and stopped the noise from being too loud, but it was still a shock after the relative quiet of the entrance.

He waited until last to scan his card, certain it would work, but still cautious. He waited until the green circle turned red. He pressed his card to it, and almost as soon as he did it turned green.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to talk to FRIDAY.

He smiled when the group gasped and cooed over the room. It was quite charming in its own, terrifying way. He planted his hands into his pockets, and let the noise calm him.

Occasionally, people seemed to be tripping in front of Peter, and he glanced down. There were taped down power cords, and he had been unconsciously avoiding even the quite thick ones that others seemed to be underestimating.

Up ahead, a few interns had just rolled out a set of power cords all taped together into a bundle that went at least up to his ankle

They made it halfway through the room when the group hushed to a dead silence. They seemed to be staring at the back wall. Peter stepped over to the left and peered around the group.

The back was a black glass wall, with a door at the left, right where the walls meet.

_ Oh god, there’s two of them. _

Just next to the door were two people Peter knew far too well.

Bruce Banner was standing against the wall, arms crossed, and white lab coat pushed up around his elbows. Next to him, with his arms crossed and face serious was Bucky.

He was wearing a black t-shirt, his right ending at his bicep, and his left going down to his wrist. He even wore a glove, like he was trying to draw attention to his metal arm without letting anyone see it.

Just when Peter thought it couldn’t get any worse, the door opened again and in walked someone he didn’t even realise was back on Earth.

Gamora was wearing blue leather and silver swords, her hair cut at her shoulders, and seemed to somehow be death-glaring at the entire room without even looking at anyone. Instead she kept her eyes trained on Bucky and Banner, nodding when they asked her a question.

Only his family would have the  _ audacity  _ to show up at his school field trip, like the absolute  _ monsters  _ they were.

Bucky he could understand. When he found family, he didn’t let go of them. Gamora was the same.

But, by Thor himself,  _ Bruce  _ of all people?

Shit, Peter was almost disappointed.

_ “Remember what I said, guy’s,”  _ Ella’s voice said through the Ear-Comms, the background noise fading like his ears were stuffed with cotton, and only Ella’s voice could pierce it. “ _ Please try to treat them as people, they are here for work, not to take photos with you guys, okay? If one of them approaches you and asks if you want a photo, feel free to accept, but do not approach. Are we clear?” _

Over the comms, he heard noises of agreement, and then they were silent, and the outside sound filtered in once again.

Carefully Peter sucked in a deep breath, and then let it out.

They were here for a reason; he was sure of it. All of a sudden, the group veered off to the right, and stopped at one of the benches. An official looking man stood next to it, his lab coat a pristine white, and in his hand a welders mask.

He was using one hand to text furiously on his phone. His ID card was stuck on his coat, labelling him as  _ Doctor Connor Murphy, PhD. _

On his glasses, a text box appeared. It seemed the plan to help Jared become not-a-zombie did not work. Pegs was coming down instead.

Peter wondered what had happened in the five minutes since he had left them. He assumed not a lot.

Dr. Conner plastered a smile onto his face and greeted them when they reached the back wall. 

In front of him, his classmates were staring resolutely forward, directly at the Doctor. They were taking Ella’s warning quite seriously then.

Ella spun when she stopped next to Dr. Conner and smiled brightly.

“This,” she gestured to the man next to her. “Is our esteemed Dr. Conner Murphy.”

He nodded and gave the group a tight-lipped smile. “Hello.”

He seemed awkward.

Peter could understand why. In front of him, the others were standing stock still; not even twitching. They might not even be blinking if Dr. Conner’s expression was anything to go by.

After exactly a million hours of awkward silence, Dr. Connor’s started talking.

“So, first of all, I would like to welcome you guys to the practical level of the R&D labs. We work with the practical components and plans of the theoretical level. Basically, they give us the ideas, and we send back every reason why they will or won’t work, with evidence. Upstairs they do run simulations to see if something will work, but science is never one hundred percent accurate. Because of this, we have special testing rooms. That’s where you guys will be.”

Connor’s phone vibrated, and he excused himself to answer it. Another bubble appeared on Peter’s glasses. Jared had vomited on Pegs and Amanda, and Connor was on his own.

Dr. Murphy scowled and clenched his jaw. His throat bobbing, he turned back to the students in front of him.

“So, there are ten testing rooms, each one filled with something different. We actually were able to procure a few off-world items.”

Ah, so that’s why Gamora was here. She must have been delivering them. Quill probably would have offered, and probably would have been shut down immediately. He had a habit of dropping things.

“There’s also a malfunctioning arc-reactor _.” _

In front of him the group sucked in a collective glass and started fidgeting. Now at least they were acting like normal students.

Under normal circumstances the knowledge that an arc-reactor – especially a malfunctioning one – would have sent him into a panic. But the testing rooms were made up of a large room filled with the testing equipment, and then a viewing room; a thick bullet proof glass wall between the two rooms.

Tony had gone into each of the rooms and coded them so that only FRIDAY could open the doors, and if FRIDAY were down, the door would remain locked until she was rebooted. Only a ghost would be able to get through them.

Ella stepped forward then and began leading them back towards the back wall.

Bucky, Bruce, and Gamora were still standing there. Probably hoping to make sure he was okay.

Lucas glanced back at Peter, and he felt himself freeze, his eyes going comically wide.

Quickly he schooled his expression.

If Lucas said anything – anything at  _ all –  _ to Peter that sounded vaguely threatening, Gamora wouldn’t hesitate. If Bruce got angry, the Hulk would stop at nothing. Peter didn’t even know what Bucky would do.

Lucas slowed down a touch, getting closer to Peter. Oh god, he was going to say something Peter knew he was.

The interns were still cutting apart the tape holding the bundle of power cords. Peter had to act quickly.

Lucas was only a few steps in front of him now. Crap, he had to  _ do  _ something.

So, he followed his instincts.

He let the toe of his shoe catch. Just enough to trip him up. Just enough to send him careening towards the floor. He made to pull his hands out of his pocket, but his watch caught, just enough to stop him from pulling them out in one smooth go.

Sometimes Peter wondered about normal people. How slow he was forced to move to seem normal and not stick out.

He wondered how quickly they could get their hands out of their pockets when they were falling. A lot of the time they did.

Peter wasn’t normal, but he had to be, and when normal people got their hands stuck in their pockets as they fell, nothing broke their fall.

As he careened towards the ground, he closed his eyes – the floor was getting closer and closer and he didn’t want to see it happen.

_ Crunch.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally no one:  
> me, an australian: its actually pronounced emu, like eem-you. its a hard u sound  
> anyway
> 
> This is pissed aomee udpaying on th3 12 of nov  
> Pissed euals drunk  
> Anuwau love you guys. I shouldnsrink down water but water is for suckers nd peoplem5jwy dont 2ant to suffer  
> Anyway gnihht sleepnwell fam and if whereever you are is the time isnafyer 4 am GO TO SLEEP


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um...my bad  
> happy new year
> 
> this chapter is only 1944 words, leave your hate comments below, but im really happy with this chap

_ Crunch. _

Lucas twisted with the rest of the group when he heard the noise.

Peter was lying flat on his stomach, small whimpers coming out quietly. Seeping out slowly from underneath his head was a halo of red, bright and bloody.

Someone ran up towards Peter, and knelt down beside him, carefully pulling him upright. Peter's hands flew upwards and stuck fast to his face, blood pouring out between his fingers.

_ That’s Bruce Banner,  _ he thought distantly.

Carefully, Dr. Banner, and another person –  _ the Winter Soldier Winter Soldier Winter Soldier –  _ coaxed Peter upright.

His fingers were splayed slightly - enough that blood dripped down and seeped into his sleeves. The white of his glasses quickly turned red.

Peter’s whimpers quickly became moans.

Around him the world became fuzzy, almost like white noise had invaded his ears and was making his vision tunnel towards Peter – like he was the only thing Lucas could see.

Dr. Banner carefully pulled at Peter’s hands, mouth moving like he was speaking.

The Winter Soldier reached up and pulled Peter’s hands, but they didn’t budge.

Lucas couldn’t see his face, but he did see the man’s head tilt slightly, readjusted his grip, and gave another tug.

Another one – this one was  _ green  _ – knelt down behind Peter and rested both of her hands on his shoulders. Her mouth was moving too, and when the Winter Soldier tugged at his hands again, this time Peter’s hands moved.

Next to him someone turned around and vomited, bile flooding the ground and lapping at his shoes.

Lucas understood why.

His butt was damp, and only then he realised his knees had buckled, and he had collapsed backwards. 

Peter had been wearing  _ glasses. _

And the glass had cracked and splintered, and there were gaps in the lenses. Quickly he scanned the floor where Peter had landed. There wasn’t any glass, which meant…

His gaze darted back up towards Peter’s face.

Which meant that the only place the glass could have gone was –

Lucas shot upright and stumbled backwards, one hand digging into his stomach, and the other pressed to his mouth.

He ran blindly, only stopping when he reached somewhere he could be alone.

He felt something solid against his back, and slid down until his butt hit the ground, and he was able to rest his head on his knees.

The ringing was still echoing in his ears, and he wanted it to stop.  _ Needed  _ it to stop.

Almost unbidden, he found himself sucked down into his memories.

_ Six-year-old Lucas stood in front of his father; teeth crooked in his proud smile. He was holding out a piece of paper – artwork, his mind supplied. _

_ His father shook his head, face stern, his straight brown hair slicked back. “I don’t like it.” _

_ Lucas felt his smile fall, and he quickly looked to his shoes. They were bright red and gold – like Iron Man. Mum got them for him. Daddy hated them, hated Iron Man. _

_ Lucas quickly shifted his gaze to the floor. Slowly they dragged themselves upwards to meet Daddy’s eyes. Daddy wouldn’t say anything unless they made eye contact. _

_ “But I’m proud of you for trying,” Daddy said, clapping Lucas on the shoulder. _

_ Lucas felt himself beam, even though some part of him still ached. Lucas never mentioned his artwork again, he realised – then frowned. How did he know that? _

_ (Dad was never impressed by artwork and his English papers, and the time they did those baking soda volcanos.) _

_ Six-year-old Lucas shook his head. He didn’t even do “English”. _

_ Eight-year-old Lucas stood next to daddy as he fiddled with some machinery.  _ **STARK INDUSTRIES,** _ it said in bold white letters on the side. _

_ “Daddy, I thought Iron Man didn’t make weapons anymore?” Lucas asked, tugging on dad’s sleeve. _

_ Daddy pulled his arm away, with a scowl. “He said that, didn't he.” He knelt down so he and Lucas were eye to eye. “Remember this son. The more someone says something, the more they lie. Remember all those newspapers and interviews and videos where Tony Stark said he was shutting down his weapons division? Well, those were lies. No one who tells the truth has to say it more than once, okay?” _

_ He waited for Lucas to nod, even though part of him didn’t understand. But – but Iron Man was a hero, wasn’t he? _

_ That’s what everyone said on the internet said, anyway. _

No one who tells the truth has to say it more than once, okay?

_ Resolutely, he nodded. Mum said to never trust the internet anyway. _

_ Ten-year-old Lucas was sitting at the kitchen table, all dressed in an itchy black suit. Mum was on the ground now. Cancer. Lucas hadn’t cried yet. Neither had Dad. He was too old to call him daddy now. _

_ Outside the world was pitch black. Lucas frowned. _

_ Dad had gone into the garage ages ago, right when the sun started to go down. Maybe he should go down there? Bring him some food maybe? People he didn’t even know had dropped off so much food that most of it was stuffed down into the outside freezer. _

_ On the fridge now were English essays. One detailed the failure of modern medicine for those in third world countries (Tony Stark should have done better). _

_ One detailed how Brian Banner could have helped in the development of a cure for cancer, and how he instead tested on his child, and created a menace to society. (This one he did after mum got diagnosed. Bruce Banner had the knowledge and know how to help – instead, he got angry and took it out on the world). _

_ “Lucas!” Dad called. “Get over here.” _

_ Lucas was twelve, nearly thirteen. _

_ His dad said he was too old to call him dad anymore. Lucas still couldn’t quite break the habit. _

_ “We’re going to save the world, Lucas,” his dad said. “But we can’t do it here. _

_ Lucas was fourteen, watching the employees of SI wander about, doing their business. His headset sat on his head wonkily. He quickly reached up and fixed it. _

_ “You’re good to go,” he told his dad. Then watched as he arrived at a door. It was just off to the left of the main hallway. Lucas waited until his dad reached for the handle, then carefully pressed a few keys. The door opened, and his dad slipped inside. _

_ He pressed a few more keys. The security camera feed from inside the room faded in. It was a simple supply closet, filled with cleaning equipment. On the real security camera feed, inside of the building, it would be playing a normal loop. _

_ Lucas watched as his father carefully cut out a sliver of the plaster, right next to the carpeted ground. It was barely half an inch high, but it was all he needed to slip the tiny little black square inside the wall. _

_ Alien tech was so much more advanced than anything the buildings AI would be able to understand. _

_ The small piece of tech was simple in its job. Make those a part of his matrix invisible to the building. Make ghosts out of Lucas and his father. _

_ Only ghosts could sneak in and out of the building without being caught, crawl into rooms without tripping a single alarm. _

_ Not even FRIDAY knew he was there, no matter how much equipment he was sporting. _

_ Wait, FRIDAY? The building was called JARVIS, wasn’t it? _

_ He frowned, shook his head. Someone started walking down towards the room his father was hiding in. _

_ “Da- I mean, Quentin, there’s someone coming down the hall towards you.” _

_ “Good job kid. When I go, return the feed back to normal, okay?”  _

_ Quentin left the building, doors opening for him with the press of a button or the turn of a handle. Ghosts didn’t need codes or keys.  _

_ Lucas was nearly sixteen. _

_ His father stood in front of him, wearing his stupid Mysterio outfit. _

_ “Remember the plan. Lay low until I get back, okay? If the people on earth won’t help us save it, there has to be someone in space that will, okay Lucas.” He slapped Lucas on the back. They had stopped hugging years ago. “Pollution, ice-caps melting, mass extinction – someone out there will care. They have to. Be safe.” _

_ Then Quentin was gone, using his stolen SI gear. He just had to get one more thing from SI, and then he was going to be gone. _

Lucas frowned, having shot back into his own mind, into the present.

He didn’t want to remember what happened next.

Fucking Spiderman had been at SI.

Fucking Spiderman just had to go after his father.

_ Fucking Spiderman came back from space two weeks later with half a hundred stupid fucking superheroes, and Lucas had never seen Quentin again. _

Lucas rubbed at his eyes, flinging the glasses onto the ground. They were fucking useless anyway. He was a ghost – FRIDAY didn’t even know he existed.

One month. It had taken one month for a letter to arrive in the mail, addressed to him in his old name.

_ Jonathon Beck. _

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t been Jonathon since the fucking letter had come in the mail.

Three days after the letter, a trip to social services, and some bullshit cover story about Quentin being the target of a gang, and Lucas was born, burying deep into his subconscious so well even his memories called him that. 

Finally, Lucas looked around the room. He froze, and slowly stood up, a smile stretching across his face.

Oh, he could  _ kiss  _ Parker.

He frowned. First, he would get Peter therapy, then maybe Lucas would kiss him. He winced and pushed the idea away.

First, Monday. Then he would call child services. Peter was seventeen for Christ's sake. But first he had to get that meeting with Pepper.

Getting alone time with Iron Man was impossible. But he had come back from space with Spiderman, so he had to know where Quentin was. He  _ had to. _

No one had gotten a private audience with Tony since before the battle of New York, so Pepper was the next best option. They were dating, surely Tony told Pepper everything. He had to, right? No normal person could go through what he went through without confiding in someone.

So, Pepper would know. And after Monday, Lucas would know.

Carefully, he opened the door to the explosion proof room with the press of a button. He smirked. Oh, he really was a ghost.

Slowly he approached the gauntlet. The malfunctioning one. His smirk turned into a smile as an idea popped up.

There he could isolate the part tripping up the functioning, he could key it to his phone, and then once Monday was over and done with, he could press a few buttons and then Pepper Potts would be no more.

She deserved it.

The first time Peter had gone through the front entrance he hadn’t even turned fifteen. What sort of sick fuck did that to a  _ child? _

If Pepper died, Peter would be sad, but eventually he would be grateful. Maybe if she suffered first, he would look back at the memory and laugh.

For a moment Lucas felt bad about what he said earlier, but forcibly shoved them aside. Peter would soon understand why Lucas had said what he said. He just needed to find his father.

Peter just couldn’t know what he wanted to do with Pepper first. He just needed information, that’s all Peter could know. Just a nice normal conversation.

Then, maybe, after a few therapy sessions, they could find Quentin together – and maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ they could start trying to fix the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> covid plz leave  
> americans please wear masks  
> fun fact Australias borders were finally opening and life was returning to normal, but then two americans who didnt want to quaratine went out to a pub, and gave Sydney the american strain, so i dont mean to be rude, but fuck those two people
> 
> edit:  
> okay so the above statement is not correct, and i take full responsibility for spreading misinformation  
> below i have posted the comment that helped me learn from my mistakes, in the hopes that it also informs anyone else that is perhaps unclear on the details 
> 
> "You do know that the two people who went dancing in the Northern Beaches were not American, don't you? They had the American strain, but were not themselves American.
> 
> And, if the people in the Northern Beaches LGA had stayed there during the lockdown, instead of spreading out over Sydney, Sydney would not have over 150 cases in 14 days.
> 
> I say this as a Queenslander who drove down to Western Sydney on 19.12, found out at 4pm the next day that the Qld border was going to be shut at 1:00am the next morning, and bolted back to Qld, crossing the border at 12:20am. I have been in self-isolation since then with my mother, even though we never went to any of the locations that have been identified, and I look forward to getting out tomorrow and going shopping.
> 
> Instead we keep hearing stories about how people from the Northern Beaches have been breaking quarantine left, right and centre, not limited to the bride and 20 wedding guests who ended up with a $1K fine each, the woman who went down the Shoalhaven and got caught, or the 60% of Northern Beaches LGA residents who work outside the area, especially in hospitality, who were allowed to go work, spreading the virus. Melbourne would like to say thank you to the Northern Beaches people as well, as they are going to have to go back into lockdown, after some of the Northern Beaches people went down there, and have started a cluster."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *tosses in ao3s general direction*  
> peter on drugs is me completely sober   
> *collapses onto bed. dies*  
> ...9172...

Peter was lying flat on hit back, lashes brushing against the damp cotton pads every time he blinked. His eyes itched slightly – just enough for tears to form and spill over. They must have been healing then, the meds wearing off enough for him to feel it happening.

The IV must have been removed then; his metabolism slowly eating through the left-over sedatives.

Under normal circumstances he couldn’t have an IV. Like thistles in someone’s fingertips, if the body couldn’t get rid of it, white blood cells would flood to the area, surrounding the offending object with pus and blood.

There was a dull pulse radiating out from his upper thigh. He smothered a groan. A drug designed to numb his healing factor, jabbed in like an EpiPen, the needle long enough and sharp enough to slip through the bone and flood his bone marrow.

It was always stabbed into his upper right thigh.  _ Always. _

Instead of healing in a matter of hours, it was slowed down to only slightly faster than a regular human.

It was essential when he had to be operated somewhere sensitive –  _ like his eyes. _

He twitched. He’d forgotten about the glasses.

It had happened in slow motion; Lucas and his sick smiles, tripping, and Gamora telling him to relax,  _ otherwise we can’t help you, Peter. Please, you need to relax. _

Time must have moved twice as fast to catch us, because when he tried to think past that, all he remembered was throbbing pain all around his head, then a sharp stab in his thigh, then in his right arm, and then nothing – just cotton stuffed limbs and a cotton stuffed mind.

He must have been out for just under two hours – the drug, lovingly deemed Liquid Raid by Quill – for all of its magical properties, couldn’t last against his metabolism for longer than two hours at a time.

He must not have needed a second dose, because the IV had already been removed, meaning that for now, he didn’t need any more removal surgery.

As his mind slowly fought its way through the sedative, the more he remembered that wherever possible, he avoided the numbing drug.

At the base of his spine was a tingle, the back of his neck was itching, his arm hairs standing at attention.

On some level, his Spidey sense knew that the Liquid Raid was… _ changing  _ him. Changing the way he healed, something his Spidey sense thought was irrevocably bad.

Knowing that something was bad, his sense went haywire. The cotton on his eyes became dangerous. The air-con fluttered on, and he flinched when it brushed over him, sending goose bumps spiralling over his skin, the page flipping next to him grating against his ears. He resisted the urge to destroy the book.

…wait.

He twisted his head slightly, tilting one his ears into the air.

_ Ba dum… _

_ Ba dum… _

_ Ba dum… _

He smiled triumphantly, feeling oddly proud of himself for recognising the heartbeat. It was slow, slower than most. Slower than anything he had heard before.

Peter was worried that Steve would have a heart attack the first time they had sparred.

At Germany, there had been so many things to focus on, that he had ignored all of the  _ extra  _ stuff, and just focused on footsteps, the snap of muscles, the small, infinitesimal ticks that only his sixth sense could make sense of – memorising heart beats had simply not been at the top of his list.

So, it made sense that when Peter and Steve had first begun to spar, hearing his slow heartbeat pick up so  _ quickly,  _ and caused Peter to panic. Surely that couldn’t be  _ healthy. _

After making FRIDAY scan him half a dozen times, and then researching what made Steve Rogers, Captain America, he was finally able to rationalise the panicking part of him down.

It made sense, after all. In order to have what was essentially  _ super strength,  _ and to then  _ maintain  _ that super strength, both his anaerobic and aerobic respiration were off the charts.

He wasn’t like Peter. For all intents and purposes, Steve was still  _ human.  _ His very DNA wasn’t shifted so far away from humanity; technically speaking, he was still considered the same species as before the serum. His wasn’t flooded with radiation and mutations and mutilations.

Steve’s heart had to beat so fast, just so it had a hope of keeping up with the oxygen supply his muscles needed to keep  _ moving.  _ Peter thought it was only the super soldier serum that made sure his heart didn’t give out.

This study also had the added benefit of Peter memorizing Steve’s heartbeat.

Said heartbeat was beating slow, preserving itself and taking a brief break, but always ready to spring into action. He surmised that was how he survived all those years in the ice. A heart able to go from barely working, to moving faster than should be possible.

The leather of his jacket creaked, then the sound of a page flipping.

Peter waited for another page to flip before he spoke. “Hey, Steve?”

The book closed with a snap; a leather jacket creaked. A warm hand grasped his. “Peter how are you feeling?” came flooding over his ears. The back of his neck tightened, and he quickly shook away the feeling.

_ Steve’s not dangerous, body,  _ he told himself sternly. _ He’s like a teddy bear on steroids. _

“On steroids,” he muttered.

There was a choking sound. “What?” he said, sounding strangled, like he was holding back a laugh.

“My body’s disgusting,” Peter said louder. Then, before Steve could reply, “Like, my hands are  _ sticky.  _ And so are my feet,” he rambled. His brain scrambled to stop his mouth, but his mouth didn’t want to listen. He had too many thoughts to keep them locked inside. “I want to wax them – they’re covered in, like, Velcro, and it's so  _ annoying.  _ I don’t want to be  _ sticky.  _ I want to go back in time and kill that spider before it bites me. If you could, would you go back in time to Peggy?”

Too late, his brain finally started working, and a hand came up and slapped itself across his mouth.

_ Fucking Jesus God. _

_ Why am I like this? _

Peter hadn’t meant to ask that.

Sure, like most people his age, when the knowledge that Captain America was alive after somehow surviving in the ice, he wondered if he missed his old life.

It was kind of like old people. Always saying they missed the  _ good old days. _

When Peter was younger, he never imagined he would get the opportunity to ask. When he did get the chance, he refused. It was impolite.

His drugged-out brain didn’t understand the concept of  _ impolite. _

_ Aunt May would be appalled. _

Peter tugged on the hand stuck to his mouth. Scowling, he lifted his other hand, and peeled it away from his mouth. “Sorry, Aunt May,” he said.

Someone sighed.

He shivered, skin pebbling. Steve isn't a dangerous body, he told himself.

“Disgusting,” he muttered to himself. “And stupid.” He smiled wildly. “Two for one deal, better than Black Friday.” He lifted one hand and started patting around his eyes. The other was still held captive by Steve’s regular hand. “Itchy.”

A calloused hand grasped the one pawing at his cotton wrapped eyes and pulled it down to his chest. There, it met his other hand, and Steve held both of them together.

Peter ignored the thought that whispered at the back of his head.  _ Steve isn’t a threat, body, you don’t need to rip his arms off. _

“Tony would give you them back anyway.”

“Give me what back, Pete?”

Peter floundered for an answer. His mouth spoke before he found a better one. “If I accidentally pulled off your arms.”

“…that wouldn’t be ideal.”

Peter nodded sagely. “No it wouldn’t.”

It was quiet for a moment. Peter's mouth didn’t like that. Peter's brain did not get a say in the matter. “You never answered the question.”

“Which one?” Steve asked, playing stupid.

That never worked with Peter. He could hear heartbeats. Like a bat. Like a bat man. Like Batman but if Batman actually had echolocation.

“That would be the fucking coolest thing ever.”

Steve’s heartbeat pounded slightly out of tune, and Peter went rigid. Steve squeezed his hands, and Peter sucked in a deep breath, focused on the heat emanating from his body, and carefully relaxed.

Steve sighed when the last of the tension left Peter’s body.

“I used to think about that all the time, you know?” Steve started.

_ Oh shit what’s happening. _

_ Oh my god he’s talking. _

_ I should start a blog. Tell the entire world about the avengers and their stories.  _

_ Pay attention brain, god doesn’t love you right now – STEVE IS TALKING BRAIN PLEASE BE QUIET. _

“About how much simpler everything was.” Steve huffed. “I was stupid. Women can vote now, no more segregation – well. Less legal segregation, being gay isn’t illegal here anymore, now me and Bucky don’t have to repress our emotions. Medicinal knowledge is much better than it was before. I used to be prescribed cigarettes for asthma, Peter.  _ Cigarettes.” _

Peter resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up. Or at least, his  _ brain  _ resisted the urge.

“This isn’t what I asked,” he said pitifully, like he was a kid asking why he wasn’t about three snacks instead of two.

He was going to staple his mouth shut.

Steve snorted softly. “I’m trying to explain,” he scolded gently. “People say they miss the old days when everything was simpler, but the only real thing that they miss is the feeling of superiority over other people. Sure they might feel out of place because the world is moving around them and they don’t have the proper brain chemistry and neurons to understand why or how, but they miss the sense of security they had in the world.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Peter got the sense that Steve was collecting his thoughts. The sedative must have been wearing off because Peter was able to keep his mouth shut this time.

Steve sucked in a soft breath and let it out slowly. “My security was my mum when I was a kid. Then it was Bucky, and when I thought Bucky died, it was Peggy. We weren’t in love, no matter how many history books imply we were. It's like you and MJ, you know? You would die for each other, but the idea of forming a romantic attachment is so far out of the realm of possibility that it seems impossible.”

Steve sucked in another breath, and Peter twisted his hands so they were holding onto Steve’s, and not the other way around.

“When I got out of the ice, I tried to visit her, but her carer wasn’t allowing any visitors. I asked for updates about how she was and when I could see her, and the only time I ever got a message was when she was on her deathbed, and I was in space. I got back down and held her hand as she died. She said to me,  _ we were going to walk each other down the aisle, remember? Instead Howard did it. Oh, you should have seen it. You and Bucky. I’ll walk you down the aisle, okay Steve? _

“Those were her last words.  _ I’ll walk you down the aisle, okay Steve?  _ The only reason I would ever go back, would be so I could bring Peggy back with me. The point is, Peter, no I wouldn’t go back in time and then stay there. No point. My security – my  _ home,  _ is with you, Bucky, Nat, Wanda –  _ all  _ of us, okay?”

Carefully, Peter pulled himself upright, and swung his legs over the side. The cotton over his eyes grew damp as gravity pulled at his tears, and he sniffed wetly. His back spasmed when it left the warmth of the mattress, and he ignored it in favour of pulling Steve into a hug.

Steve hugged him back just as tightly.

“That was really sad,” Peter said into Steve’s neck.

Steve huffed. “It wasn’t meant to be sad, Pete.”

Peter lifted one hand until he felt Steve’s hair, before gently patting it twice, almost like he was petting a puppy. “MJ says we’re allowed our emotions no matter if others perceive them to be irrational or annoying.”

“MJ sounds smart. We should have her over for dinner.”

“She really is,” Peter said tightly, holding back a sob.

Peter let go slowly. When he was no longer being held upright by Steve, he slumped onto his side. Pulling his legs to his chest, he kept one hand clutching Steve’s, and the other he used to cradle his head.

“Where is everyone?” Peter finally asked. His eyes had stopped itching, his body prioritising healing them, fighting against the Liquid Raid with all it could. Now that his eyes were healed, the aircon stopped feeling so dangerous, and he felt himself relax minutely – his Spidey Sense finally calming the fuck down.

It wouldn’t return completely normal just yet, not for another couple hours at least, just until the Liquid Raid was completely gone.

The sedative must have worn off as well. A dull thud had begun to form around his nose, radiating out in waves in tune with his heartbeat.

Steve cleared his throat, and Peter got the distinct impression he had been crying.

“You’ll have to ask FRIDAY, kid. You’re my priority right now.”

FRIDAY, ever the observant individual, said, “Your classmates are in the cafeteria right now, Kiddo. They were quickly informed of your situation, were allowed to change into clean clothes, and are worried about you.”

“My situation?” he mumbled. “What’s my cover story?” he asked a touch louder.

“You are currently in surgery in the medical wing removing seven fragments of glass from your eyes and surrounding tissue. Because of the delicacy of the area you will not get out until three forty-seven. You will then enter the Halo and have your eyes and immediate surrounding tissue restored to full health. You will be driven to the compound and arrive between six thirty and seven thirty with a bag full of clothes your guardian has dropped off.”

Peter rolled the information through his mind for a moment, then sighed. “Okay so what’s actually happening then.”

“You have a follow up with Sparkles in ten minutes, and a flight scheduled for seven o’clock to Home for a set of clothes. You will then be driven from Home to Base to make it appear as though you were driven.”

Peter had no idea what the time was, but he knew that seven was far to fucking far away. “I’m gonna be here forever, aren’t I?”

Steve snorted, and picked up his book with one hand. The other was still clutching Peter’s.

“Only another five hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifty-five seconds.”

Steve laughed out loud, and Peter almost felt like ripping his hand away in spite. But then he squeezed Steve’s hand tighter, anyway, reassuring himself that he was still there.

“I wouldn’t,” he finally said, after warring with his mind. He wanted to be sure actually wanted to say it, and it wasn’t just his mouth being stupid.

“Wouldn’t what?” Steve asked distractedly.

Peter sucked in a soft breath. His heart was pounding slightly faster, the throbbing waves of pain radiating out with each beat.

“I wouldn’t go back and kill the spider.”

The book closed with a quiet  _ snap,  _ and Peter felt his hand be enclosed by both of Steve’s.

Peter floundered for a moment, trying to find the words to explain what he meant, but Steve never asked him to clarify, and eventually Peter stopped trying.

Eventually, the sliding glass doors opened, and in came someone with sharp and confident steps. Stephen wouldn’t know timidness if it slapped him in the face. Peter felt himself shiver, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge.

Great, his Spidey Sense hated everyone apparently.

“Ahh good, you’re awake.”

Peter sighed. Looks like it was Dr. Strange, if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Strange asked.

Peter shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“…you guess?” he asked slowly. “Could you be more specific?”

_ Well, Lucas is threatening to tell the entire world I’m sleeping with Pepper, I have a crush on Flash and he might like me back, I’ve never been on a date before, Lucas is going to get himself murdered, and I’m so terrified of letting that happen that I tripped on a cord and now have a broken face. And the Liquid Raid makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. _

“My nose hurts, and my head is kinda achy,” is all he said.

_ Oh, and not to mention I’m on a Field Trip that basically means I get to spend the rest of the weekend at home with some of my classmates, of which only one knows I live there. _

“Okay, well, if you sit up, I’ll take off the gauze, and we’ll have a look at your eyes.”

Steve carefully pulled Peter upright, so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Peter felt Dr. Strange calloused fingertips carefully pick at the tape holding the end of the gauze in place, before unwinding it from around his head. Peter felt the wrap loosen and slip down a touch before someone was holding it in place.

“FRIDAY turn off the lights please. When I remove the bandage gradually increase the speed ten percent every twenty seconds,” Dr. Strange told her, then muttered something quietly underneath his breath. “You want this too?” he said.

Peter had no idea what he was on about.

“What is it?” Steve asked, sounding like an old person confronted with a microwave for the first time.

“Night vision spell. Pretty simple.”

Makes sense.

Peter assumed Steve agreed, because Dr. Strange muttered the same few words. To Peter he said, “Okay, I’m going to remove the gauze now, alright? The only way Peter could tell the bandage was gone was when the cold assaulted his freshly healed eyes.

Tears sprung forward from his sensitive eyes and fell. He sniffed them away and sighed when he felt the air shift, his muscles twitching with the urge to move away from danger. Both Dr. Strange and Steve had stiffened suddenly – apparently enough to seem like a threat.

“It’s just the air,” Peter said quickly, before they launched into  _ Protective Parent  _ mode. “Eyes are kinda sensitive is all.”

“The cytotoxic antineoplastic must be stronger than we thought,” Dr. Strange noted.

Peter was sure he heard that name from somewhere. Then he gave up. It sounded fake anyway. Too many syllables, not enough sustenance.  _ Just like fatigue. _

“It should completely clear out of your system as soon as the sedative wears off, and your metabolism increases,” he told Peter. All of a sudden Peter could make out both his and Steve’s features, and resisted the urge to rub his eyes when he saw Steve’s red rimmed eyes, and the extra frown lines on Dr. Stranges’.

They couldn’t have been that worried.  _ Surely not. _

Peter had been through far worse than a few wounds to his eyes. Although, to be fair, no one else was injured, no one else around to distract others from him.

It was then that Peter noticed where they were. He hadn’t been left in the open med bay, where they all rocked up after a fight and wanted to stay close to each other. Instead he was in one of the private rooms, with its dark walls, and cot built into the wall.

Dr. Strange, using his fingers, pressed gently around his eyes, over his nose bridge, prodded at the delicate skin covering his cheekbones. When he finished the lights were at full brightness. And Dr. Strange was missing something critical.

“We’re the cloak?” Peter mumbled, as he felt fingers tilt his jaw this way and that, making sure there wasn’t anything that needed healing right away.

“He was worried and kept trying to get through the doors to see you,” he said distractedly. He gestured to the opposite wall, where Peter just noticed a white poster, with rows of letters, each row getting smaller and smaller until they were almost indiscernible to the average human.

“Hold this over your right eye, and try to say each of the letters, going down in rows, please,” Dr. Strange asked, handing him a spoon. Peter glanced down at his suit before following his orders. He didn’t have pockets. Peter didn’t care enough to question it.

Easily he read through the letters, right down to the very bottom line. Then he did the same with the left.

Dr. Strange nodded like he was satisfied. Then he held up his hand and made a swirling motion. “Seems you’re as healed as you need to be for now.”

Peter felt a tingle at the bottom of his spine as soon as the words were said. Then he was instantly pulled away from examining the words when a portal appeared, and out shot a bullet of red.

Wings seemed to pick itself up, and shake, like it was trying to right itself. Then it spun around and shot at Peter.

“Hey, Wings,” he said to the cloak, muffled as it was by the cloak’s fabric. “I missed you too.”

Wings squeezed him tighter, almost as if to say,  _ I didn’t just miss you. I was worried. _

Slowly, Wings released him and slung itself around Dr. Strange’s shoulders. Peter glanced at his face. It was pinched with worry, and his eyes were scanning his face. This was Stephen.

Stephen and Steve exchanged a glance, and both sat down on the chairs provided. Peter glanced towards the door and waited to see if anyone was going to make a dramatic entrance.

That was when he remembered what FRIDAY said.

“What did FRI mean when she said I was going back to the Field Trip?”

In front of him, they exchanged another, uneasy glance.

Stephen sighed heavily, before threading his hands together, and leaning his elbows on his knees. “It was discussed while you were in surgery. Ultimately, it is your decision, but we came up with two options to choose from. The first is, you go straight Home under the guise of a concussion that needs to be monitored here at SI. You pretend your injuries are less severe than they are, and you go to school on Monday with fluid inserted under the eyes to give puffiness, and some concealer like you’re hiding bruising.”

“Option two,” Steve said, continuing on from where Stephen had left off. “The Liquid Raid gets inserted into your thigh in…” he glanced at his watch, “… roughly an hour and a half. Enough time for your Spidey Sense to see if anything is wrong even the CAT scans and X-Rays might have missed-”

“But not enough time to heal anything,” Peter finished for him miserably.

Steve nodded slowly, face grim, and somewhat surprised. It was almost like they had expected Peter to jump on the first option without even bothering with the second. “And you go back to your classmates still bruised, with your Spidey Sense going haywire. You finish the Field Trip and go on a vacation starting on Monday. When you return to school your bruising will be healed, and everything should have returned to normal.”

Peter already knew what one he was going to pick, but he waited for a moment, like he was mulling the options over in his mind. They both stared at him expectantly. “Option two,” he blurted out suddenly. Then again, slower this time. “Option two.”

Stephen sighed like he was disappointed. Steve’s mouth twisted like he was chewing on his tongue, but he didn’t look surprised.

“FRIDAY,” Steve said quietly. “Tell the others he chose option two.”

“There isn’t an option under that name, sorry Capsicle,” FRI told him.

Steve sighed, and hung his head in his hands. “I know he makes jokes when he’s worried and scared and stuff, but I’m gonna kill him.”

“ _ Straight up rude _ ,” Tony said through the ceiling. The sound of wind whistling came through a moment after. “ _ I’m flying from the Compound straight to SI, and you have the gall to threaten me.” _

“Why did you go to the Compound in the first place?” Steve asked, as Stephen started pressing on the bridge of his nose to make sure nothing was broken. He waved his hands. Peter heard a slight buzzing, and he flinched away from the noise.

He turned his head, and gaped at the floating skull, an exact replica of someone’s head but made with golden light.

Peter closed his mouth quickly and snorted when the skull closed its mouth too.

“I went to the Compound to get Peter a gift,” Tony huffed. There was the sound of something heavy landing, and then the sound of nanites skittering away sounded. “Speaking of which, why did you choose,  _ Option: Fucking Stupid as Hell Number Two.” _

Peter shrugged.

“Kiddo, FRIDAY just told me you shrugged.”

Oh. Right. He actually had to say a reason. First, he had to think of one.

The door whooshed open, and in Tony came, clutching something in his hand. He tossed whatever it was on the bed and stopped in front of Peter. He placed his hands-on Peter’s shoulders and squinted at his face.

To Stephen he said, “He looks like death. I thought his healing was working.”

Stephen was currently looking at the floating golden skull. “It’s the cytotoxic antineoplastic.”

_ There was that stupid fake word again. _

“His healing fought so hard against its to heal his eyes, its not going to bother fighting the cytotoxic antineoplastic to heal the rest of him any faster than a normal human.”

Peter didn’t feel tired. At all. If anything, he felt… _ invigorated.  _ He almost wanted to go on a run and keep running until Lucas was long since left behind in the dust.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked Peter. He shrugged a shoulder, and Tony narrowed his eyes at him.

“Use your words, kiddo.”

Peter searched for the right ones. Eventually, he found them. “My face hurts a lot…but I still want to go on the Field Trip.”

“ _ Why,  _ Peter. We could go Home, binge some movies, and get some popcorn.”

“I just…” Peter trailed off, glanced to the ground, then to the side, where he finally settled his gaze on Stephens hair, just peeking out over the top off Tony’s left shoulder. “I want to have at least one normal thing.”

No one said anything. Peter watched at Stephen's hair tilted towards Tony’s back, focusing on Peter.

“Just one normal Field Trip,” he clarified. “I know this isn’t normal, and I know I’ve already seen everything, but this is the first time I haven’t had my world turned upside down.”

It was tilting on its axis, but he was clinging to the surface. He hadn’t slipped off and fallen into the abyss just yet.

“I just want to be a normal kid and go back to the Field Trip. No one else would ever miss the opportunity to go to the Compound. I just…I want  _ one  _ normal thing.  _ Please?” _

Peter held his breath as he waited for them to make their verdict. Stephen said it was ultimately his choice, and normally his choices were respected and he was injured. This was a wild card, added to an already full deck.

“ _ One normal thing,”  _ Tony muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes, and clapped Peter on the shoulder, before rubbing up and down his arm. “Alright, kid. One normal thing. But you’re still taking a break next week, okay?”

Peter nodded quickly, smiling. Pain shot through his cheeks, but it only slightly stifled his grin.

“Before we begin this  _ one normal thing,”  _ Tony said, letting go of Peter and reaching for the small ball he had tossed onto the foot of the bed. “Here’s a gift.” He passed it to Peter, before walking behind Steve and Stephen, and leaning against the wall.

“I know you were working on Mr. FRANKLIN,” Tony said, with a wry smirk. “But I refuse to believe you’re a dog person and not a cat person, like your father.” He gestured to himself.

Steve scoffed, turned to glare at Tony, while Stephen pointed at himself and mouthed,  _ If anything I’m your father. _

Steve turned just in time to see Stephen mouth the words, and he elbowed him fiercely in the side, and said, “I’m his father. Peter, I’m your father figure, okay?”

Tony whacked him on the back of his head. “You,  _ you bloody bottom,  _ are either his mum or the fun uncle.” Tony gaped, as if in shock at his own words. There was quiet as they all turned to stare at Tony. His shock turned his cheeks pale, but then they suddenly coloured red, and his jaw clenched, but it didn’t seem like his anger was directed at himself. If anything, he looked self-loathing. “Okay I apologize. That was a blatant misconception, and I’m sorry. Steve you aren’t his mum because you’re a bottom. I’m sorry for saying that.”

Steve scowled, and turned back to Peter. “ _ I am not a fucking bottom.” _

_ “Protocol:  _ Language,  _ has been activated, Capsicle.” _

Tony crowed with delight and pointed at Steve with a triumphant smile. “So, you admit you’re his mum.”

Peter stared at Steve with an expectant expression. “You’re gonna have to fight Nat for that role,” he told him.

Steve cringed, and paled slightly. He shook his head, and glanced around, like he was seeing if Nat was hiding anywhere before he answered. “I reckon I could take her.”

Peter stifled a laugh and ran his fingers over the ball, ignoring Tony as he asked FRIDAY if she got a recording. It was larger than the palm of his hand, but still fit inside of his hand. It looked like it was made with different sheets of metal, welded together, and then forged into a sphere.

“But I refuse to believe you’re a dog person,” Tony said, when Peter held it up to his eye and ran his fingers over the seams. He was fiddling with his phone, tapping away at the screen. “And not a cat person, so I made a companion for your dog. Something for him to love, and, if I programmed it right, Mr. FRANKLIN is for that thing to hate.”

Peter narrowed his eyes.  _ Holy shit.  _ His cheeks pulsed with pain, but he couldn’t dim his smile an inch. “You made me a cat?”

Tony nodded with a sly, secretive smile. “You can swear in front of it too.” He held up his phone. “As of now, no longer connected to FRIDAY or Karen –  _ one normal thing.” _

Peter felt his eyes begin to sting. He couldn’t blame the cold this time. “You made me a cat. A  _ normal  _ cat.” He fiddled with it for a moment. “How do I activate it?” he asked.

“Name it,” Tony said.

Peter snorted. “That simple?”

Tony nodded once, softly. “That simple.”

Peter thought about it for a moment. He needed a name that he could yell, something that would make sense with Mr. FRANKLIN.

“What about…” he rolled the names around his head for a moment. “I name you, Miss. Honey.”

The world felt still for a moment, then the sphere made a small  _ hum.  _ Peter dropped it with a yelp as the pieces of metal that looked like they were welded together, split apart, and started spinning. It bounced and spun underneath the bed.

There was a large  _ whir,  _ and Peter scrambled backwards on the bed, only to flip onto his stomach and lean his head over the side.

He let loose a gasp when he saw what the ball had turned into.

Miss. Honey was sitting on her hind quarters. She was thin and made with sleek blue silver plating, red coated wire whiskers, and black claws. Her eyes were a solid bright blue, glowing in the dark. She stood upwards and trotted towards him with a small  _ meow. _

He sat upright on the bed and watched as Miss. Honey leapt from the ground to the cot. She landed in front of Peter, and he tentatively lifted a hand to pet her. She pushed her head into his palm, blue eyes blinking happily.

She  _ meowed  _ again, and Peter hurriedly picked her up with a coo. “Oh, my goodness, you are  _ amazing.” _

He held her to his chest. Using her two front paws, she left her bottom being held by Peter's arms, and began kneading Peter’s chest.

“You are just the cutest, aren’t you?” he cooed. “I cannot believe how  _ cute  _ you are.”

“So, I take it you like her?” Tony asked, somewhat rhetorical.

“I  _ adore  _ her,” he said with conviction. “She is  _ perfect.” _

Miss. Honey started  _ purring  _ then, as though she agreed. She jumped up to his shoulders, and laid across them, her tail brushing against his left bicep, her front paws resting against his right shoulder.

“See?” Peter nodded in the direction of Miss. Honey’s head. “She knows it too.”

Wings fluttered around Stephen's sides, and Miss. Honey stopped purring. Peter resisted a shiver. Stupid Liquid Raid.

Miss Honey let loose a soft meow, and in the corner of his eye, Peter saw her head tilt. Then she rested her head on her paws, like Wings wasn’t worth her time.

Peter raised his eyebrows at the men in front of him, with a grin. “She knows her worth.”

Stephen rolled his eyes, Steve bit his bottom lip like he was trying to laugh, and Tony gestured, like he was asking if anyone had ever seen such genius.

The back of his neck chilled, even with the warmth of Miss. Honey’s body. Peter felt his smile dim. “What if someone sees her? Like I go on holiday – you said you programmed her to be a cat, and cats wander, like all the time – and someone sees her?”

Peter felt like he might have been acting suspicious, but then the base of his spine tingled. His Spidey Sense was right. Miss. Honey was worth it.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t think of that, kid? Miss. Honey, show him camouflage mode.”

Miss. Honey flicked her tail slightly faster.

“Miss. Honey,” Tony tried again. “Camo mode.”

She turned her head away from Tony and stared at the back wall.

Tony frowned, and asked again, a touch of warning in his voice. “Miss. Honey?”

Miss. Honey hissed. Peter felt her stand upright, leap down to the cot, claws digging into the mattress in front of Peter, and arched her back. She hissed again, staring at Tony.

Peter stifled a laugh. “Miss. Honey?” he asked in a placating tone. “Can you show me camo mode please?”

As soon as  _ camo mode  _ passed his lips, two slots opened up either side of where her spine would have been. Two little machines flew out, two miniature drones complete with the SI logo on the side.

They scanned her with blue lights, then she flickered out of view. Her blue steel plating was replaced with a light blue grey tabby fur, her whiskers turned into white sticks, her claws still black but now looked like real ones digging into the mattress. Her eyes were a dark grey, and they blinked slowly, glowing with humour.

The drones disappeared as well, as though they were never there.

Tony nodded slowly with a scowl. “I hate myself sometimes. I programmed an animal with loyalty and forgot to code more than one person for it to be loyal too.”

Miss. Honey turned her butt to Tony and waved her tail high in the air. Peter snorted and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Tony,” he told him.

“Oi,” he snapped, pointed at him with a finger. “It’s dad to you.”

“No, I’m his dad,” Steve said standing upright, and turning to face Tony, crossing his arms.

Stephen scoffed, stood up, and grabbed both Tony and Steve by the arms. “Guys, you’re both pretty, okay? Peter, I’ll be back in a bit to re-administer the cytotoxic antineoplastic.”

Just before they passed through the doors, Tony called, “One normal thing Peter.”

Peter waved them goodbye and waited for the door to close. He crossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What does…cytoxic antiplastic mean?”

Miss. Honey tilted, her head, grey eyes blinking.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I agree. It’s a fake word. Can you remove the camo mode?”

Her fur glowed blue for a moment, before being replaced by the blue steel and red whiskers. The drones appeared a moment later too. They slipped back into the two open slats on her back, and the slat closed without a sound.

“Are you really not connected to FRIDAY or Karen?”

She tilted her head just so and nodded slightly.

Peter grinned. “Fucking finally.”

“ _ Protocol:  _ Language,” said FRIDAY, from the ceiling. “ _ Has been activated, Kiddo.” _

“TONY.”

Peter heard a cackle come from just outside his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would die for Miss. Honey   
> comment if you would too


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3818   
> drink water kids, get at least six hours every night, and stay in school   
> otherwise we wont be strong enough to fight god when the time comes

**CHAPTER 12**

Tony was sitting in his lab. Well, to be more specific, he was laying on the floor, and his legs were propped up by the wall.

The paperwork was glaring at him from the tabletop, surrounded by old coffee cups. Beside them, DUM-E was making a smoothie with motor oil and steel bolts.

“Not those ones, buddy,” he called, after watching him fumble for a moment. “Use the other ones. Yes ye-  _ no DUM-E.  _ The ones I tossed the other day, they should be somewhere there. Do not touch the custom-made ones for Mark…whatever.”

DUM-E whirred slightly, and his claw spun around twice in excitement. Then he leaned down and nudged it with his claw.

Tony sighed as the bin flew into the air, paper and plastic and steel parts flying into the air. The paperwork was quickly covered in oil and old coffee. Oh well. It probably wasn’t that important anyway. 

“I’m not cleaning that up, DUM-E.”

He hummed sadly, and unleashed a few sad chirps.

Tony scoffed. “I don’t care if it was an accident, it was your fault, so you have to take responsibility.”

He was going to make a great father one day. He scowled and cracked his neck. He already was a great father. He just had to get Peter to admit he was his father figure, and not Steve. Or Stephen. Or Bruce.

Clint was hands down off the table, but that wasn’t because of anything Peter did. Clint was just an idiot.

Idly Tony heard a notebook open, and a pencil started scratching at the page.

“Do you not have a home to go to?” he asked Steve, where he was sitting out of view. Tony hadn’t heard him move since he had barged in complaining about  _ stubborn youths, _ planted his ass down on a stool, and flung his legs up on the stool beside him.

“Too far away,” Steve muttered.

Tony let his head fall to the left, where, if the concrete walls and glass panes and steel frame disappeared, he would be staring at Home.

“It’s closer than the entrance of this building,” Tony told him, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Tony scoffed. From Peter and Shuri he expected it. They were clearly a bad influence on the resident senior.

The sliding glass doors to his lab opened.

“Steve you could at least answer your phone sometimes,” Bucky said with a sigh, apparently inviting himself in. 

Okay, so Peter and Shuri were a bad influence on one of the resident seniors.

Tony flung his legs to the side and rolled up over his shoulder onto his feet. He jumped upright, before he twisted to face them. He grabbed a small wrench and started twirling it in his hands.

“FRIDAY why are there so many people in my lab?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Steve told her, before FRIDAY could respond. She didn’t comment on either statement.

“Traitor,” Tony said to the ceiling.

He strode over to the only empty table, asked FRIDAY to bring up the live feed of Peter’s lab. “Base,” he clarified. Peter had three labs – one just above his at the Compound, a small one connected to his room at the Tower, and the third he shared with Tony at the Tower.

A video popped up, of Peter hanging upside down from the ceiling, finishing up the designs for Mr. FRANKLIN, the blue hologram spinning faster than Tony could comprehend. Miss Honey was sitting on her hind quarters directly below him, staring up, blinking owlishly.

“Did you get anything out of him,” he asked Bucky, when their quiet mutterings grew silent and he knew they were watching the live feed.

“Nothing,” Bucky said. “He refuses to talk about what happened. Says he tripped.”

Steve scoffed. “He would never trip.”

Tony nodded sharply. “That’s the issue…” he started.

“…he keeps insisting that he did,” Bucky finished for him.

“Maybe Nat could break him,” Steve wondered.

Tony watched as the glass doors to Peter’s lab opened, and shot in Shuri, arms spread wide. If they had audio he was sure she would be screaming.

He watched as Peter’s face twisted with joy. He let go on the ceiling and flipped to land lightly on his toes. He shot forward, and they enveloped each other with a hug. They began to rock together as if slow dancing.

He smiled softly. He saw their mouths begin to move in unison and asked FRI what they were doing.

“They’re singing  _ Happy Birthday  _ to each other _ ,  _ Boss.”

They stopped rocking, and then let go. Shuri did a spin and flourished with her hands. It must have been a signal off some sort, because Peter tilted his head and nodded quickly with a big grin before doing the exact same.

The glass doors opened, and Tony turned. He pointed at Nat as the doors closed behind her. “You have sonar or something? I swear people can’t get away with sneezing without you knowing.”

Nat blinked slowly, sipping at a green smoothie. “I’m a genius.”

Bucky and Steve turned to Tony to see if he had the nerve to deny her the title. He waited until she got distracted taking a seat on a table before shrugging his shoulders at the pair, as if to tell them to get their sick entertainment somewhere else.

Yeah he was a genius, but he wasn’t fucking stupid.

She nodded at the live feed behind Peter. “Did you break him yet?”

They all shook their heads ruefully. She hummed and donned a blank expression. Tony was fairly sure it was her thinking face, but he had no way of knowing.

“Thought he was staying at the Tower until it was time to re-join his classmates?” Steve asked, apparently having just realised that Peter was at his Base Lab.

Tony snorted. “Apparently staying at the Stark Industries Tower, a place filled to the brim with world renowned scientists and technology when he had the Compound to go to, was, and I quote,  _ a hate crime.” _

“Peter said that?” Bucky asked, while Steve made a choked sound next to him. If Tony didn’t know better he would have thought he was holding back a laugh.

“Technically he and Shuri said it at the exact same time when he called her for back up. But yes, Peter said that.”

Steve’s choking sound became a gasp, and Tony glanced in time to see Steve holding his ribs with a pained expression, Nat rolling her eyes, and Bucky quickly pulling his arm away from Steve’s side.

Nat suddenly leaned forward, just enough for Tony to notice. He turned to see what she was looking at, and Tony pulled on the corner of the live feed, making it bigger.

Peter and Shuri were sitting cross legged on the ground, both leaning forward, foreheads nearly touching, as they whispered conspiratorially.

“FRIDAY, add audio.”

Suddenly they jerked apart and in unison turned to Miss Honey where she was sitting a few feet to their right. They shared a glance before turning towards the camera.

“Uh oh,” someone muttered. “This is not ideal.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY said from the ceiling. “Peter is calling.”

“…put him through, FRI.”

There was a small stretch of quiet before…

“Tony?” Peter said, in a quiet voice. It didn’t sound like he was angry, just…resigned.

“Yeah, kiddo.”

Suddenly pain echoed around his skull, and his hands flew up to rub at the back of his head. He glared at Nat as she stopped next to him, rubbing her palm. Somewhere between entering the room and slapping him across the head, she had lost her smoothie.

She spared him a glance, the tilt of her eyebrows thoroughly scolding him for upsetting Peter, before she gestured at the live feed, and pointed at Miss Honey.

“Spying?” Peter asked.

Tony weighed the pros and cons of lying. Nat’s head tilt added a hefty bit of weight to the cons.

“Yes,” he said without preamble.

A heavy sigh. Tony watched as his entire body slumped before he fell backwards, and stretched his legs out in front of him, so he was lying flat on his back. Shuri watched with an uncharacteristic amount of worry. “ _ One normal thing,”  _ he muttered, quietly enough that he was sure Peter hadn’t wanted anyone hearing him.

Tony felt his chest tightened, and he sucked in a soft breath.  _ One normal thing. _

_ Should I explain,  _ he mouthed to Nat.

_ No fucking shit, Tony,  _ she mouthed back.

“We’re just worried, kid. It’s not every day you take a fall like that.”

Tony didn’t realise his mistake until he flung an arm over his eyes, and Miss Honey jumped onto his stomach and started kneading.

“How many people are in there with you, Tony,” he asked, not even bothering with asking him to clarify. Smart kid. This is what happened when someone couldn’t pick out their father figure and instead let everyone worry equally. He shook his head. That wasn’t how worrying worked.

“Just…” he glanced around to make sure he wouldn’t be lying. “Four of us. Me, Steve, Bucky, and Nat.”

He said something in Russian, and Nat snorted. Tony glanced at her suspiciously.

“He called me a traitor,” Nat said.

“That’s because you are,” Peter told her. Shuri had joined him, lying flat on her back but using his stomach as a pillow. She nodded in agreement. Apparently she had no fear of death.

“We just want to know that you’re okay,” Bucky said from behind Tony. He heard the glass doors open again. Heels clicked against the ground, and he felt soft hands slide around his stomach, a chin rest on his shoulder.

He interlocked fingers with Pepper and leaned his head back to rest on her shoulder. On the video Peter nodded slowly, arm shifting with the movement. “I really am,” he said, not at all convincingly. “And Tony,” he gestured at Miss Honey, now curled up on his stomach. “You promised.”

He did, didn’t he? “Okay kid if you say so. Love you.”

“Love you guys.”

There was a chorus of  _ love you too!’s _ before the call ended. The room was silent for a minute, then Nat spun away, snagging her smoothie from the table.

“I’m off to break him,” Nat announced.

“We have to make a guest appearance at half past seven,” Steve said, glancing down at his bare wrist as though there was a watch on it.

She held up her smoothie in the mockery of a salute. “See you in an hour and half then.” Then the sliding glass doors closed behind and she was gone like she had never been there. Apart from the circle of condensation on the table.

Pepper slid her arms out from under Tony’s and he followed her as she approached a stack of black binders that hadn’t been there before she walked it.

She picked them up and turned to him with an expectant expression.

“And here I thought it was because you missed me.” He pressed a hand to his arc reactor in a mockery of heartbreak.

“These,” Pepper said, holding the binders up in the air. “Are for the lawyers, so they can go ahead and start suing the school.”

He stared at them until Pepper dumped them down on the table. “I thought they already started doing that.”

“No, Tony, you emailed them to start suing them, and after three missed emails they finally contacted me to have the go ahead.”

“Huh, shouldn’t they have emailed you straight away then? Since Peter is technically your employee.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “The subheading was  _ sue my sons’ school.  _ Can you imagine why they thought emailing me would have been a bad idea on their part?”

Behind her, Steve scoffed, and leaned close to Bucky, presumably to whisper in his ear, and if it were anything else they could leave please and thank you. Apart from a few swearings fits, this lab was PG rated. 

He cocked his head. “I see nothing wrong with that subheading, and if it was my son, wouldn’t you also know about it?”

“Do it please, Tony. I promise I won’t make you sign anything else for the rest of the year.” She patted his over arc reactor twice, and then tapped the binders. Grabbing onto his shoulder, she slipped her heels off, and stretched her ankles. “Now that that’s over with, I’m going to go relax.” They pecked each other on the lips, and then she was walking away, heels swinging in her hand.

Bucky held out his silver arm, and they hooked arms.

Tony and Steve shared a glance.

“Should I be jealous?” Tony asked.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Gay,” he said, presumably about Bucky.

“I don’t understand you.”

“Racist.”

“I swear you used to have morals.” Tony jerked his thumb behind him, at the silent live feed. “What are we gonna do about him? And what are you writing?”

Steve gestured with his notebook then stuffed it into his leather jacket pocket. “Feelings – my therapist recommended it when Bucky and I couldn’t communicate due to the toxic masculinity we were raised in, so we started doing this, and then reading and talking them over before bed.” He nodded towards the live feed, then stood and stopped text to Tony, facing towards the live stream while Tony faced away. “As for him…I don’t know. Did he tell you why he didn’t want to miss out on the field trip? Apart from the one normal thing?”

“ _ Why don’t you just stay home for a bit kid...heal up, you know?” _

_ “Never had food from the cafeteria, and everyone else is going to. Can you help me with the bit of welding? I don’t have enough hands, and DUM-E scares me.” _

_ “…sure kid.” _

Tony shrugged. “He keeps deflecting. Can’t get a straight answer out of him.”

“Do you think Shuri knows?”

He turned to face the live feed, snorted when he saw the view.

Peter had a blindfold on, while Shuri threw stuff at him. Tony watched as Shuri pretended to throw something, and he flinched, and Miss Honey’s claws scratched at the metal table, gouging out a tally mark.

At one point he stiffened, and didn’t move, only to fly backwards with his hands to his face as a scrunched-up piece of paper smacked him straight on his black and blue nose.

Nat entered the field of view at that point, placed her smoothie on a table, and snagged the first aid kid when Peter’s nose started to bleed profusely.

Both of the kids looked surprised to see her, so she must have just entered.

Tony thought about Steve’s question for a moment. “Probably. I mean, it is Shuri and Peter. They decided to share a birthday to maximise their similarity. Apparently if one of them ever gets kidnapped, the plan is to be able to  _ feel  _ where they are in the world.”

Steve nodded like it made sense. “And that only works if they’re basically the same person.”

“Does that mean we could try to break Shuri?” Tony asked.

“The only person who could do that is Peter. And Peter is the one we need information on.” Steve glanced down at his empty wrist, scowled, then asked FRIDAY for the time.

“I could make you a watch that you can summon to your wrist whenever you call for it,” Tony called after him as he spun to leave. Apparently he had to get ready for the oh, so important appearance.

Steve just waved a hand up in the air. Apparently that was answer enough. Tony knew Steve well enough that it was probably a resound,  _ no I don’t need one of those. _

But Tony was Tony, and paperwork was meant to be procrastinated, and he never passed up an opportunity to procrastinate.

_ One normal thing. _

He shook his head, cleared the thoughts away. Then decided the watch could wait. So could the paperwork.

“Okay FRIDAY, add an amendment to the language protocol. Whenever Peter is with Miss Honey, he can swear freely, so long as she is active.”

“Of course, boss,” she said after a moment, and Tony knew that Peter had gotten his one normal thing.

_ That was kinda anticlimactic _ , he thought. He expected fireworks, a parade, maybe some impromptu singing to really commemorate the moment. Instead, what he got was an empty room, alone with his thoughts, and a few thousand dollars’ worth of equipment.

The sliding glass doors and he turned towards them, only to frown when he saw an empty space.

_ Meow. _

He glanced down towards the noise and scoffed when he saw Miss Honey sitting in front of him, on her hind quarters, the picture of grace.

She opened her mouth as wide as possible, head tipped back, and said, in Peter’s voice, “ _ Thanks Tony. And Miss Honey is amazing.” _

She closed her mouth then with a click and left with a swish of her tail.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask for a reply?” he called after her.

She didn’t even hesitate out of the doors. He really was a genius wasn’t he. Complete loyalty to Peter, and no one else.

Turning back to his desk, he pulled a rollable stool over with his ankle, and jumped onto it. “FRI, bring up the blueprints for Peter’s SiWatch.”

They appeared in a blue glow, and he quickly ran his hands over them, separating out the layers. He binned the wrist band, and the face of the clock. He enlarged the matrix, and made it a circle, like a regular watch. 

“Bring up Peter’s vitals and location status for the last twenty-four hours. May as well figure out if they’re working,” he muttered, not really wanting to program something faulty, only to have to go back in and fix the problem.

They popped up to the right of the blueprints, and he scanned his eyes over them, just briefly. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he shrugged it off. He looked back to the blueprints. Stared at them for a moment, then frowned and turned back towards the vitals.

They started just before six when he put the watch on, and then continued, with a few brief spikes and then two gaps.

For anyone else he wouldn’t have worried.

For anyone else he wouldn’t have even noticed.

But outside of Base and Home, Peter didn’t take off his watch or kimoyo beads for anything. For one they kept track of him, made him feel secure, and made sure he was easily contacted, and for two, they housed his web shooters.

And Peter was Spiderman just as much as Spiderman was Peter; he didn’t go anywhere without his web shooters, always ready for action, always ready to step in.

_ Curiosity killed the cat,  _ his conscience warned.

“Yeah but satisfaction brought it back,” he muttered. “FRIDAY, bring up the videos of the every time Peter takes off his watch, with a minute either side of the actual time frame.”

The first was Peter racing to the bathroom, MJ in hot pursuit.

Ooo _ kay. _

Not super normal, probably not anything to worry about. Maybe he had an emergency. They didn’t have video inside of the disabled bathroom, so he moved onto the next one.

It was of him walking down an empty hallway, before he stopped in front of a bathroom. He went inside, the door swinging closed behind him before swinging open again.

… _ what. _

“FRIDAY replay.”

Again, Tony watched as Peter entered the bathroom. He nodded; everything was perfectly normal. The door began to swing shut, before opening again, like something had shoved it open again.

It was probably nothing.

“FRIDAY get another angle please.”

Another screen popped up, this time facing the bathroom at an angle, probably from a security camera a ways down the hall.

Tony watched as the back of Peter’s head walked towards the bathroom, before shoving the door open. He zoomed in onto the door, trying to see it Peter had grabbed onto the door, but he hadn’t. It had simply opened by itself.

“FRIDAY is this a glitch?”

“No sir,” she said, sounding completely sure of herself.

“Show me another person entering.”

Another feed popped up. They entered the bathroom like normal, and the door closed without a problem.

So, the problem isn’t with the door.

“FRIDAY bring up your code sequences for this exact moment please.”

He scanned his eyes over the code, pausing when he got to a line. A single line. That’s all it was. A single line in the code that he didn’t remember writing. To be fair, he reasoned, most of FRIDAY’s code was based on JARVIS’.

So, it was perfectly reasonable for Tony to assume he had just forgotten about the single line of code.

He enlarged the picture and highlighted the line of code. “FRIDAY, what does this line do?”

“I don’t understand,” she replied.

He gestured vaguely towards the line. “What does this line of code do?”

“What line?”

He squinted at the screen in front of him. Okay, yeah, the watches could wait. First he had to figure out what the fuck was happening.

He tried again. “Isolate every instance this line of code had been used,” he told her.

He waited for a second for her to reply, and when she didn’t, he asked if she was there.

“Yes, boss.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

“For you to highlight a piece of code, boss.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Scan for viruses and bugs, FRI.”

“Scan complete, everything is completely normal.”

That was definitely not true.

He glanced behind him, towards the stack of folders, then at the blueprints for the watch. 

Two things he didn’t really want to do.

“Do we still have the records of JARVIS’s code, somewhere?”

“In the  _ happy memories, better times, worse technology  _ folder.”

One last time, he reasoned, he would try one last time. “FRIDAY scan the script. When does this specific line of code first appear?”

“The first appearance is during JARVIS’s term as your primary AI. The 17 th of January, 2014.”

Of fucking course she could do that, but nothing else. 

“The time?”

She was silent for a moment, presumably searching through the script.

“Unclear, boss.”

Tony glanced back at the paperwork. Signing them would be quicker than manually sorting through every single line of code that JARVIS used that day.

“But,” he reasoned, shoving the stool away, and pulling over a high backed chair in front of the holographic displays. “If I do this, I don’t have to sign paperwork.”

Besides, Peter may have his tingle, and Tony had his own instincts. Fatherly instincts, paternal instincts, parental instincts. How could Peter say he wasn’t his father figure after this?

_ So _ , he clapped his hands together, rubbed them a few times.  _ Who’s ready to procrastinate? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment...i dare you   
> come on  
> dont be a coward   
> *comment*


End file.
